


You Never Know...

by Jacked27



Category: Secret Window (2004), The Ninth Gate (1999)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BDSM, Blood and Gore, Crossover Pairings, Demons, Developing Relationship, Don't Like Don't Read, Drama, Evil, Fighting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Gay Sex, Hallucinations, Hell, Love Story, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Multiple Personalities, Murder, OC, Poltergeist, Post-Movie, Rape, Romance, Satan - Freeform, Satanism, Self-Harm, Sex, Ship, Slash, Smut, Triggers, Violence, Yaoi, dort, johnny depp - Freeform, otp, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 26,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacked27/pseuds/Jacked27
Summary: After publishing his new book, it opens up a whole new world of possibilities for Mort Rainey. He is discouraged at first, but will love take over him again? He fears for the future with his new love interest, being damaged from his past partner. Will this new person be able to help him? Or destroy him? And what obstacles will be in the way?





	1. A New Chapter in Life

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters just Michael Sinfured.
> 
> This story can get graphic at times so, mature audiences only, unless you can handle it. There are also trigger warnings in here so read at your own risk, you have been warned. Enjoy!

Mort Rainey had been working on his latest book for months, it was going to be published within a week from now. Or so he thought. Mort just couldn't seem to finish it, the inspiration was flowing through him, like it had never before. He often wondered if this inspiration had come from his recent incident with Amy and Ted. 

The sudden reoccurring memory had made him stop his typing spree. Mort set his hands aside from the keys and sat back in his chair, thinking, when he realized that he wasn't even typing words. It was more of just random letters, clustered together. He let out a frustrated sigh and stroked a hand across his chin. 

The writer decided he needed a break, he'd been working since 11:00 am and was now 6:00 pm, it was rare for him to get up early, but when inspiration strikes him, it strikes him hard. With a swift move, he was up from his chair and heading down the stairs, going towards the kitchen. 

Mort got himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, drinking down the icy cold beverage. The writer nearly jumped when he saw another figure appear through the glass.  
"You know what you're writing is bullshit." Morton said as he caught eyes with Mort's.  
"Oh yeah? What do you know."  
"It's lies, lies that no one will ever believe."  
"It's the truth, whether you like it or not." Mort said as he made his way past Morton, into the living room. 

"Really? Then how do you expect everyone else to react? They're going to think you're crazy. Especially after what you did."  
Mort sat down on the couch, saying, " I didn't do anything! It...it was-"  
"Who? Me?" Said a deep southern accented voice from the loft, which made both of them look up, only to find a third person of them with a wide brim black hat and shovel in hand. Shooter. They both stared as Shooter made his way down the stairs to join them in the conversation. 

Mort quickly got up from the couch when he saw that Shooter was approaching him. Mort has always been more afraid of Shooter than Morton, since he knew that he was his more aggressive side.  
The man with the hat grabbed Mort by the throat and said, " Don't ya go blamin' that on me, ya hear?" 

Before Mort could respond, Morton then cut in, "Come on Shooter, you don't always have to be so harsh, just let the poor man go and there won't be any problems."  
Shooter then turned his attention towards the man in the sweater vest.  
"The only problem is goin' to be you gettin' in the way." He said as he pointed the tip of his shovel at him. 

Morton just laughed to himself and grabbed the shovel, forcibly throwing it to the side which made a loud "clank" sound against the hard wood floor. Now walking up to Shooter, he grabbed his arm and squeezed it harshly till he lost his grip on Mort. The writer fell to the floor, gasping for air and crawling away.

"Now since we both know that I'm the stronger one here, do you really want to go there?" Morton said with an evil smirk.  
Shooter gritted his teeth and hated the idea of backing down to Morton. "No, I don't."  
"Good." Having said that he released his arm and walked away. 

Shooter, defeated, seemed to vanish on his own as well as Morton, only to leave Mort sitting on the floor hurt and confused about what had just happened.


	2. Debating

Mort awoke at 2:00 am in his bed. He looked around his surroundings, finding himself alone in the darkness. Reaching over to his nightstand he found his glasses and put them on, getting out of bed. The writer knew it was late, but he couldn't sleep. 

For some odd reason he felt uneasy, after that conversation he had with Morton and Shooter, mostly Morton. However, his words have seemed to make him realize about what he'd been writing. 

He went over to his laptop, opening it and sitting down.   
As the computer loaded up, the words started to appear. Looking it over he thought, "Should I do this? Is it the right thing to do?" It took him a good ten minutes to come up with a conclusion. 

"I'm going to do this, I'm going to publish this book." Mort said quietly to himself.  
But he wasn't entirely to himself. 

A menacing voice said from behind him, "You're making the wrong decision."   
Mort turned around only to find a more neater version of himself standing there.   
"I'm doing what's best, now leave me alone."

"Just let me help you and make all your problems go away..." Morton said as he started to close the laptop.

"I said, leave me ALONE!" Mort closed his eyes angrily, hoping he would go away. Calming down and reopening his eyes, he found himself once again alone, in the darkness.


	3. Finally Published and a Party?

The next morning, Mort finally published his book after some debate. Later that night, to his surprise, the book had already sold 150 copies and he was invited to a party to celebrate his accomplishment.  
Mort wasn't one for parties, but he knew he had to attend it, otherwise it would look bad on himself if he didn't. 

The writer had spent much time rummaging through all his clothes, trying to figure out what to wear, when he suddenly came across an old black and white suit from when he and Amy got married. The outfit brought back up bad memories, but it was all he had, so he didn't care much.

He looked at the time and found that he was going to be late since it starts at 8:15 pm, and is 8:10 pm. 

"So I heard that you already sold 150 copies." Morton said, leaning against the doorframe as he watched Mort get dressed with some fascination. Mort just ignored him at this point.  
"Which means that 150 people now know our secret..." Morton dragged on. 

The man getting dressed let out a agitated sigh, "Can't you just ever be happy for me? Not once?"

Morton rolled his eyes. "I am happy for you, in a way."   
"Whatever. I don't have time for this." Mort finished getting dressed and headed into the bathroom to comb his hair neatly. 

After that he pushed past Morton and went downstairs. His annoying personality followed him. As the writer got his keys off the hook about to head out the door, Morton grabbed his shoulder and pulled him closely.

"You look quite handsome tonight, if I might add." He said with a playful grin, looking him up and down.

Mort looked at him in disgust then to his watch, seeing that he is officially late.  
"Get off of me, I'm already late." He pushed him off and finally made it out the door, slamming it behind him.

As he made his way over to his truck he could see Morton staring at him through the window as he got in his truck and started it up, disappearing into the woods.


	4. A New Face

The party was held in a mansion in the middle of the woods. Mort pulled up beside the mansion and turned his car off, sitting there for a bit just to observe the building.   
He was feeling more nervous than earlier, like he knew, that parties weren't his thing, but it was for a good cause. So it couldn't be that bad, right? 

The writer jumped out of his truck and was greeted by a few strangers outside as he made his way to the front door. He didn't necessarily ignore them, he just simply waved and moved on, not trying to be in conversation right now. 

The door was opened for him and he stepped inside, intaking all the beauty and elegance. The floors pearly white with some marble infused into it, a huge inviting staircase right as you walk in, and not to mention the very bright and shimmering chandler hanging over the entrance. 

He'd never seen a place this amazing before, not to mention the tons of people here.   
These kind of people were considered snobs to him. Flaunting around their riches and such. Just then Mort was disrupted from his thoughts by an older fellow dressed in an expensive black silk suit. 

"Ah, Mort! You've made it, a pleasure to officially meet you Mr. Rainey!" The white-bearded man said as he extended his hand out to shake the writer's.   
Mort smiled, shaking his hand and nodded. "Pleasure to meet you too Mr...."  
"Oh! Sinfured, Michael Sinfured."   
"Mr. Sinfured." He bowed his head.

Mort glanced around then said, "Incredible place you got here."  
"This place? Yes it is, took me a lifetime to get this." Michael smiled. "How about I show you around?" He motioned for Mort to follow.  
"Love to." The writer replied and followed him outside.

The place was crowded with people, it was a challenge just to get outside. Mass amounts of upper class people talking amongst themselves. He glanced to his left, which was the massive staircase leading to the upper floors. To his right, is an elegantly laid out bar with people crowding it. Mort thought to himself, "Gotta hit that later." 

He snapped back to reality when he heard his name being called from afar.   
"This way Mr. Rainey!" Michael shouted from the outside waving his hand, so Mort could find him. 

The writer made his way to the outside, rejoining next to Michael. It was a particularly colder night than usual, but it felt good. As the brisk air touched their faces and their breath was visible.

"So what do you think?"  
"Impressive." He said as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking all around the poolside, intaking the beauty. In the far distance he could see a hidden garden, it looked peaceful, no one around there, a place of sanctuary, he thought.  
It was interesting to find so many more people out here instead of inside, but he guessed that everyone was used to the weather by now.

"Indeed." The old man practically whispered. Michael found a familiar face and said, "Oh, Mr. Rainey, I have someone you would like to meet." He said with almost cheer.

"He's in the book business like you, but not a writer, more like a book dealer." Sinfured stated and started walking towards him before Mort could get a word in. He then just followed him.   
The writer was fine for the time being, but he got more nervous about meeting someone new, he wasn't the type to just go out and make friends, he was a more reserved person.

He started to overthink the whole situation, he was about ready to turn around and walk in the opposite direction, when he was suddenly pulled next to the stranger by Michael. The three were now standing in a small triangle, face to face. 

Sinfured spoke first, "Mr. Corso, I'd like you to meet our esteemed guest, Mr. Rainey."  
Corso smiled brightly and extended his hand out, "Pleasure to finally meet you   
Mr. Rainey." 

Mort looked the stranger up and down, observing him, one of his main features was the silver at his temples, he thought it suited his look with the tan and dark hair. He looked rather put together, nicely trimmed, sleek suit, although his goatee a little scruffy, he seemed like a nice gentleman. 

However, Mort was practically shaking because his nerves were going crazy, he managed to reach out and take Corso's hand in his own and shook it. "Pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Corso." He swallowed hard, trying his hardest not to make a bad first impression.  
"I'll let you two be, check back with you guys later." Sinfured said, then departed from the two.

Mort watched him leave as he was the only one he kind of knew here and now to be left alone with a complete stranger.   
Corso then said, "I've heard a lot about you. You're quite famous, you know."   
The writer then turned his attention towards the man talking to him. "Really? Like what?" He slowly started to ease up to him.

"You're books are becoming the number one seller, I might add them into my store, since they're so popular." He let out a low chuckle.   
This earned a smile from Mort. "That's very considerate of you. What is it exactly that you do?"

Corso smiled then pointed in the direction of where the garden was. "Shall we take a walk and discuss about it?"  
"Sure." Mort followed along side of him.  
Once they were away from the loudness that surrounded the mansion, Corso then told him all about his job.

"It's a hard job at times, I once had to go to France, just to find a specific book that my client was after."  
Mort was in awe, hearing about his adventures, he himself had always wanted to travel to some part of the world, but it was much harder for him than he thought.  
"So how was your visit in France?"  
"Beautiful place, interesting people, I would go back if I had the chance."  
The writer just nodded to himself.   
"And you? Ever travel before?"

"Me?" He laughed. "No, never, I'd like to, but..." He spaced out for a second, losing his words in his head, it was all sort of blank.  
Corso stopped walking and laid a hand on the other man's shoulder to stop him. "Hey, you okay?" He looked him in the eyes.

It took a moment for Mort's eyes to finally catch up to his. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine..." He lightly shook his head. "Just forgot what I was going to say." He let out a faint chuckle.  
The book dealer sighed with relief, "Good, I thought you where going to faint or something."   
They continued walking down the grassy path, there was a few people in the garden, but not as much as inside. They came across a nice area full of flowers, vines, and hedges. 

The writer spotted a white painted gazebo with benches under it, he walked over to it and sat down, Corso then followed suit. Mort looked out at the dark blue sky, and inhaled briskly, enjoying the cold weather. 

Mort then said, "You know, I never really caught your name."  
"Oh, its Dean, Dean Corso."  
"Dean..." He said quietly to himself, enthralled about saying the man's name. He kept saying it over and over again in his head, which made Mort feel weird every time he said it. 

He knew that there was definitely something different about this guy, he just couldn't put his finger on it. The writer also felt some interesting feelings towards him, like he'd never felt before. It was a strange feeling that started in his back and crawled its way up his spine, which made him shiver.

This caught Dean's attention, "You cold? We could go inside if you like."  
"I'm fine, but I would like to go inside."  
"Sure thing." Corso said as he stood up. "Hey, I saw a bar on my way in, would you like to grab a drink?" 

Mort got up saying, "I could definitely use one." He laughed which caused Dean to laugh too.  
They then made their way through the garden like maze, back over to the poolside, where it has calmed down quite a bit. Mort walked ahead inside while Dean followed close behind. 

Just like earlier, the house was still full of people, luckily not that much at the bar. The writer walked over and took a seat in the far right side of the bar. The other man then sat next to him. 

The bartender came over, "What would you two fine gentlemen like to drink tonight?"  
"I'll have a scotch on the rocks." Dean said.  
"And what will our special guest of honor have?" The man behind the bar turned his attention towards the writer.

Mort blushed at the comment and said, "I'll take a Jack Daniels."  
"I'm on it." The bartender left to get their drinks.  
Dean turned his barstool to look at the writer and propped his arm onto the bar top, leaning back. "So tell me about yourself."  
"What is there to know?"  
"Come on Mort, anything." He said. "What inspired you to write your new book?"

The wheat haired man knew he couldn't get out of this one, so he told him. "I wouldn't use the word 'inspired,' but it all happened after my divorce with my wife, Amy." Saying her name made him cringe in an odd way he couldn't explain.   
"I'm sorry to hear that, I shouldn't have asked." Corso felt bad for bringing up past memories for Mort.

"No, no, its okay to be curious." Now for the question he'd been avoiding for some time, but he just had to ask it. "Have you read it?"  
"Your new book?"  
"Yes." Mort replied quietly.  
"No, haven't got the chance to."

The writer practically sighed of relief. He didn't want this man, Dean, to ever read that book because he felt a connection to him and he didn't want some book to break that connection. Even though he had barely met this man, and knew he'd probably never see him again after to tonight, he just wanted to leave off on a good note. 

The bartender came over with their drinks and set them down. "Here you go." He then left to go attend to the others, as the place was starting to get packed again.  
"What about you? You married?"  
Dean took a sip of his scotch then said, "No, I've had a few partners here and there, but nothing ever serious."

Mort nodded in reply. He felt a warmness flow through his chest, hearing that Dean was single, but the thought quickly turned sour. Why was he thinking about him?

There was no way he likes him, or maybe he does, but he'd never been with a man before...he certainly knew he would never anyway. He is a straight man, yet he was getting strange feelings, just by looking at the man that sat in front of him. 

Mort tried shaking the thoughts, but they were ever so more demanding. Maybe by getting intoxicated, the thoughts would disappear. The writer picked up his drink and started to down it. The warm liquid burned his throat and chest as it went down, he hadn't felt that feeling in a long time, but man it felt so good. 

The book dealer wasn't even half way with his drink. When he looked over and saw that Mort's drink was already gone he said, "Looks like you need another, huh."  
The wheat haired man looked at his now empty glass. "Suppose so."  
Corso waved down the bartender, he then approached the two.   
"What can I help you with, my good sir?"

"My friend here needs another drink." He motioned towards Mort.  
"Make it two." The writer spoke up.  
"Right away." The bartender nodded then left.  
Mort then realized after he'd downed his first drink that he hasn't eaten all day. Which meant that the alcohol was going to hit him really hard, he started to feel it slowly come on.   
Michael then showed up behind the two, "I see you guys have found the bar." 

Dean turned around first and said, "Yes, lovely bar in fact, what have you been up to yourself?"  
Mort just stared at his empty glass, remaining quiet and letting Dean do all the talking with Michael. 

"I've been going around promoting Mr. Rainey's new book, sold a few more tonight." Mr. Sinfured said, then asked, "Would you like one?" He held it out to Dean.  
The book dealer smiled as he was about to grab it, "I'd lov--"  
The writer sharply cut him off, "No!" He quickly grabbed the book out of his hands and threw it in the nearby trash. They both started at him like he was some crazy person. "I-I mean no, you don't want to read that boring book..."

"Well I hope you two have a good rest of your night." Michael nodded and left them to themselves.  
"What do you mean it's boring? It's been selling like crazy." Dean turned his attention back to Mort. The bartender saw the tension going on so he just set the two glasses that the writer requested, down in front of him. 

He took them slowly and sipped it quietly, avoiding Corso's question.   
"Well?" He asked again.  
Mort could hear Morton's annoying voice in the back of his head saying, "I knew you shouldn't have published that book, you should have listened to me, its all your fault now..."

He took another hearty drink from his beverage and finally said, "I'm not necessarily saying it's boring...just that you should read the other ones before you read this one."  
He knew that was complete bullshit though. 

"Oh, so they go in order then?"  
"Yeah, something like that..."  
"Alright then, still doesn't mean you should've thrown it away." He laughed, which caused Mort to laugh too. "Yeah, guess you're right." They then both laughed it off.


	5. Had One Too Many

A few hours passed and the mansion became more quiet as it got later in the night. Still with the two men sat at the bar, a few others lingered, but the amount of glasses that racked up next to them seemed to be more than 10 put together. 

However, the book dealer had half as less glasses than the writer, who looked about ready to pass out. Dean had a decent buzz going on himself. He turned to look at the drunken man next to him and saw the state he was in, getting a little concerned.  
"Hey, Mort..." He tapped his arm. "You alright?"

It took him a second to process what the book dealer had just said as he turned slowly towards him, saying "I don't...feel...so well." He slumped against the bar top, holding his head.

"Okay, I think its time for us to leave." Corso slid off his chair and helped Mort off of his. The movement was to quick for him and caused the writer to fall forward into Dean's arms, which luckily he caught him in time. 

"Easy now." He said as he wrapped his arm around his waist and put Mort's arm around his shoulder, slowly aiding him outside. They walked through the threshold and left the building, the wheat haired man got his car keys out and unlocked his truck as the lights blinked and the book dealer led him to it. Dean let go and leaned Mort up against his truck.   
"Wait right here, I forgot something inside." 

The writer drunkenly nodded as he stood there in the cold.  
The dark haired man made his way back to the bar and grabbed his pack of cigarettes that were lying on the bar top. He took them and just as he was about to leave to the outside again, he hazily remembered something important that had been in the trash from earlier. Mr. Rainey's book. 

He stepped back to take a look inside and there it was, just sitting in there, he had to look around first to see if anyone was around, cause it was gross to pick out of a trashcan. But there was no one, good. Dean reached in and grabbed it, dusting it off and stuffing it into the pocket of his trench coat. 

He went back outside, he felt a little guilty for taking it after what Mort had said, to not read it, "yet." But he was entirely too curious to let a good book go to waste. He saw Mort where he had left him, but instead he was sitting on the gravel road, slumped against his truck, totally out.

Corso kneeled down to his side and snapped his fingers. "Mort, wake up."   
He slowly came to his senses and lazily looked up at him.  
"I'm going to drive you home, okay? Because I'm not letting you drive drunk."  
"Sure..." Was all he could say as the writer's head dipped down.

The more sober man carefully picked him up and led him over to the passenger side, opening the door and gently putting the writer into the seat, making sure he was secure. He then closed the door, walking over to the drivers side and hopped in.


	6. Safely Home

The moon had risen to its peak of the night, when it was at it's brightest and fullest. The moonlight shined down upon the blanket of trees, in and out of the little creases of leaves, it lighted a pathway down the single road. The car ride had been silence and nothing more, that was until Dean had asked Mort where he lived. 

"Where did you say it was again?"  
"Just make a...left." He pointed in the direction.  
He pulled up into the driveway and parked. The book dealer noticed the cabin, it had a strange aura around it, which made him feel weird, but nonetheless Mort was home and safe.   
"You sure this is where you live?" He chuckled quietly. "Looks abandoned and kind of creepy, no offense."

"You have no idea..." The writer whispered under his breath as he got out of the vehicle. The other man followed and walked him to his front door. The wheat haired man fumbled with his keys as he tried putting them into the lock with some difficulty. 

The book dealer saw his struggle and offered to help, taking the keys and opening the door. The writer walked straight for his beloved couch, without taking his shoes off or changing clothes first and fell onto it with a satisfying plop. 

As Mort melted into his couch, Dean took a look around, he didn't expect it to look fairly nice inside, compared to the outside. Although it did have this "isolation" feeling to it, he felt bad for the writer, it must be very lonely in here, being far away from civilization and human contact. 

But he was a writer after all and they needed time alone in order to write a book, away from distractions.   
He got lost in thought as he stared up at the daunting loft. Seemed rustic, however, comforting. He'd just remembered to check on Mort to see if he was fine. Just as he peered over the couch he saw a tired body sleeping soundlessly. He was more than just fine. The sight of him which was so innocent, which made him crack a smile. 

Dean spent a good amount of time just staring at the sleeping man. He looked so delicate and at peace, he thought. But his smiled faded as he sighed heavily, he knew that he would probably never see this man again so he cherished this moment. Then he realized that he shouldn't be here, watching him like this, it was time for him to leave. And with that, he left without a word, quietly. 

Up by Mort's bedroom was a face, peering around the corner of the threshold, watching the whole scene.  
"Who do ya think he is?"  
"Shut up!" Morton hissed at Shooter for being too loud.  
The book dealer stopped in his tracks just about to leave when he heard faint voices and looked around to see no one. He thought nothing of it and shut the door quietly behind him and left.

"You almost got us caught, idiot!"   
"I didn't know he was still 'ere since ya wouldn't let me see what was happenin', dumbass."   
Morton shook his head, and rolled his eyes. He resumed to watch Mort sleep on the couch downstairs.

"So what should we do 'bout this?" Shooter asked.  
"We'll just confront him about the situation."  
"Or we could kill 'im."   
"Stop that shit." Morton pushed the other man back.  
"Alright, alright, no need to get touchy." He dusted himself off.  
They both watched from above in silence.


	7. Confrontation

Morning came around and the sun shined in through the windows. Mort woke up only to be blinded by the bright light and to have pretty much the worst headache ever. He rolled over onto his other side to escape the light, groaning in pain as he did. 

It felt like the world was spinning around him, he held his head to steady himself. The writer's eyes opened again and things were still a little fuzzy, but he started to remember what had happened the night before. 

He noticed that he was wearing a suit, but why a suit? The party. The late night. The hangover... The man. It all hit him at once like an ocean wave taking over the beach.   
"Dean..." He whispered, remembering the man's name.

He sat up quickly, in which he also quickly regretted as it felt like someone forcibly punched him on the side of the head. Mort tried to look around for him, but he was no where to be seen. He felt stupid, incredibly stupid. 

He thought, "Why would he even stay? I'm a complete stranger to him, yet again why am I even thinking about him?" The writer tried to push the thoughts away, he wanted to forget it all, but at the same time he wants to remember it forever. 

"Oooh so he was more than just a friend, huh?"  
Mort turned around quickly to the voice that spoke to him from behind then quickly looked away, blushing, but pissed off all the same.   
"You don't know what you're talking about." He replied.

"Oh come on Mort, you know you can't fool me. I can hear you talking about him. In fact, I think you may have a little crush on him." He laughed, jokingly.  
The writer gritted his teeth together, trying to think of something smart to say, but he knew it was true, however, he wasn't going to let Morton win with this. He was about to say something, but another voice chipped in. 

"Just 'nother relationship for me to ruin." He smiled, looking at his shovel.  
Morton let out a frustrated sigh, crossing his arms. "Must you ruin everything Shooter?"  
"Aye, its the fun way goin' 'bout thangs."   
"Yeah, whatever. So Mort, when are we going to be able to meet you're boyfriend?" 

"He's not my boyfriend! He's not anything!" He yelled getting more agitated about the subject. But he felt like he was lying, not only to them, but himself, he wasn't completely sure on how he felt about anything anymore. He was lost and confused.

"Wait Mort's gay? I thought he 'ad a wife before, well...ya know." Shooter tried to hold back his laughter.  
Mort was in complete shock that he had just said that, bringing up the horrible memories. "Unbelievable!" He jumped from the couch and ran upstairs to his bedroom, wanting to escape the two maniacs that were in his living room. 

"Great, now you made him run off." Morton huffed with his arms crossed.  
Shooter just stood there smiling dementedly.


	8. Hadn't Gone as Planned

The writer took off his suit and threw it in the corner of his room, he put on his regular clothes and put his robe on, over it all. He felt a little more at ease once he was in his comfort zone. 

He still had a raging headache in which Morton and Shooter made it worse. Hopefully he still had some painkillers in his bathroom cabinet, he opened up the mirror and looked through the rows of different kinds of medicine. 

Painkillers. There they were, popping open the bottle and swallowing a few.  
"Hope this takes the edge off of things."   
He went to go lie down on his bed to rest and as soon as he got comfortable, there was a knock at the door. He growled and put a hand over his eyes, annoyed.

"Mooort? Caaan I coooome in?" It was said in a sing song voice.  
"Go away." He said simply, obviously not wanting to be bothered.  
"You know I could just go through the door." And with that being said, he did.  
"Go fuck yourself." Mort grumbled and flipped over, burying their his head under the pillow.  
"Oh I plan on it." Morton said with a big grin on his face and Mort could practically feel that stupid grin drill into him. "What?"

He ignored his question and made his way over to the side of the bed and sat down next to him, placing a gentle hand on the writer's back. The man laying down felt an uneasy shiver run through his body. 

Mort swatted the hand away, but was caught in motion and held firmly, twisting it to the side and causing the writer to flip over.   
"What are you doing?!" He said frantically, with a hint of frustration in his voice.  
"Relax Mort." Morton whispered softly and grabbed his other wrist, fully pinning him down on his back with his arms held above his head. 

"Please Morton, whatever you're doing, don't d--"  
A finger was pushed against his lips, cutting him off. "Ssshhh...."   
Mort, unable to speak or move, he felt helpless, not to mention worried about what might happen next. 

"I've been thinking..." The man on top of him went on. "Since you've been so tense the last few days...that maybe, I could help you ease that tension..." That creepy, unsettling smile appeared on his face causing him to cringe internally. 

Mort had been so distracted by what he was saying that he didn't even notice that Morton's free hand was pulling down his pants.   
The writer's eyes grew wide with shock and began to push him off, but he wasn't budging. He was much stronger than him, he knew that, but he was so desperate to get out of his grasp. He kept fighting back and thrashing around.

"Feisty today are we?" The man in the sweater vest chuckled. "In that case...Shooter! Come here!"   
Within a flash, he was there next to the bed. "Somethang I can help ya wit?"  
"Yes, go fetch the rope from the shed."   
"And why should I do that? Lettin' ya have all the fun?"  
Morton rolled his eyes. "I'll let you watch then."  
"Eh, good 'nough for me." Shooter left to do what he was told.  
Morton turned his attention back to Mort.

"And as for you, we're going to have some fun." He smiled again.  
"Please Morton, don't do this." The writer begged.  
"Oh, but I want to and I know deep down you do too."  
Shooter was back quicker than he expected.   
"Tie his arms to the bed."

The man with the rope nodded and did what he was told, double checking to make sure the rope was tied good. With that being done he sat in the empty chair in the corner of the room.   
Mort struggled against his bonds, trying his hardest to pull away or break free, but it was useless. 

"Guys...come on, I'll do anything! Release me!"  
"Yeah we want you to do this." They both laughed.   
"Now no more talking..." He shoved a sock in his mouth causing him to thrash his body around again, but was quickly held down by the weight of the other man's body. Morton's hands met his sides and slid up, pushing his shirt to his elbows. 

He bent down to breathe in his scent and plant multiple little kisses to his chest, biting his nipple on the way up causing his body to jerk upwards. Mort could feel Morton's smile against his chest as he made his way up to his neck, right when he felt an excruciating pain hit him, making him bite down on the sock, holding back a scream. 

When Morton let up, there was a bloody red bite mark left on the writer's neck, close to his collarbone.  
"Now the fun part..." He pulled down Mort's pants and boxers in one quick swift move, exposing his hard member.   
Morton grabbed it tightly and began stroking it. The man lying down shut his eyes as a wanting need shot through his body, which he hated because he didn't want to do this in the first place, but he had no choice. Once he put his mouth on it, he could hear the other man let out a muffled whimper. 

This encouraged him to suck harder, bobbing his head up and down with a quick pace, enough to make him climax early. However, he wanted to tease him, so he slowed his pace just to bring it back up again, making him buck his hips. Morton stopped halfway to make sure he waited till the end. 

He then removed his own pants along with his boxers and placed himself in between his legs, spreading them further apart. He looked back at Shooter and saw that he was enjoying himself too while he watched.  
The man tied up reopened his eyes and caught a frightful sight of the man on top of him just as he was about to enter him, shaking his head and whining through the sock. 

Morton pet him reinsuring him that it'll be okay, but it made him flinch at the touch. Suddenly there was a knock at the door and the three of them looked at each other in confusion.  
"Who the fuck could that be?" He hissed at Shooter, but he shrugged, not knowing himself.   
"Maybe they'll go away." But they never did and kept knocking.

"Well someone is gonna 'ave to answer it and it ain't gonna be me."   
Morton sighed frustratedly. "Fine." He got up from the bed, not bothering to put clothes on and went downstairs.

Once he left, Mort looked at Shooter and moved his arms around as if to indicate to untie him. He looked in his direction and shook his head. He then pointed to the sock. He huffed and got up, removing it from his mouth. 

"Now what do ya want, pilgrim?"  
"Shooter, please untie me!" He said quickly because he knew Morton would be returning shortly.   
"Sorry, can't." He walked back to his chair.  
Morton got to the door and opened it.  
"Hi! Would you like to bu--" The little girl scout was cut off as she looked at the naked man and screamed at the top of her lungs, running away at full speed.  
"Stupid girl scouts." He said as he slammed the door shut. 

Since the sock was finally out of his mouth he tried to bite away at the ropes keeping him hostage. Mort tore at them like a wild animal and managed to get his left hand free, using it to untie his other hand. He was caught in his tracks as Morton walked in. 

"And what the hell do you think you're doing?!" He yelled as he ran over and grabbed his wrist before he could untie the other one.  
He looked back at Shooter, who was now fast asleep in the chair and shook his head.  
"Useless idiot..." He muttered, as he tried to tie Mort back up, but he wasn't having it and kicked him to the floor. Frantically clawing at the remaining rope.

"You bastard!" He jumped back on top of him and pinned him down, but that was after he managed to get the other hand finally free, he was able to fight back.

"You sick pervert! Get off of me!" The writer shouted back and pushed him to the other side of the bed, scrambling to his feet and grabbing his clothes as he ran out the room. All the noise caused Shooter to wake up.

"What's goin' on 'ere?" He rubbed his eyes.  
"Mort's escaped because of you!" He slapped him hard across the face, clearly angry about the whole situation.

He grabbed his face in pain and shock. "Aye!" Shooter jumped up and tackled him to the floor.  
While those two were fighting, it bought Mort enough time to leave, he threw on his clothes, grabbed the car keys on the way out and left.


	9. The Number

Mort knew he needed some time away from his cabin, let alone the two crazily annoying personalities that lingered around there. Perhaps a walk through the small town would help, he thought. The weather was colder today than most days, maybe because winter was coming faster than he could realize. 

He huddled close to himself, trying to persevere the remaining warmth he had left, since he was in such a hurry to get out of his house he'd forgotten his coat. He wished he could get out more, but his cabin kept him prisoner for years. 

However, that wasn't the only factor that was in his way, it was harder to get out more often because after what happened about a year ago, the townspeople never acted the same with him. 

They were rather more scared of him than anything else, giving him awkward glances when he walked by and people staring him down, making it uncomfortable.  
He actually wouldn't mind relocating and having a fresh new start, but he was tied to his cabin and this town in more ways than he could count. 

Mort was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't see where he was going and plowed right into someone, apologizing quickly.  
"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir..." He looked up and met a pair of familiar beautiful brown eyes.  
"Dean?" He couldn't help but smile.

"Mort?" He returned the smile back. "What are you doing here?"  
He chuckled and swept his hair back out of his face. "I was about to ask you the same thing."   
"Oh, I was just heading to the grocery store to pick up a few things."  
"But I thought you lived somewhere else?"  
"I do, but I'm staying in town for a few days, for the book conference and stuff."  
"Oh yeah, that..." 

Dean noticed that Mort was shivering and offered his trench coat.  
"Here." He took it off and placed it on the other man's shoulders, covering him up.   
"No, you don't have to..." He looked up at him.

"No, I insist." He gave him a reassuring smile. "Shall we walk?"  
"Sure." The writer smiled to himself as his warmth had been restored and to have found Dean again. He was honestly worried he'd never see the him again, but here he was, walking along side him once again. 

They got a few stares here and there, he didn't care though because for some weird unknown reason, he felt safe with him. A sudden thought appeared in his head, "Maybe I should ask him out? No. Too soon? Maybe. 

Why am I even thinking about this? He would never want to go out with me. I'm nothing special, he would reject me, because he's probably straight. No, he definitely is, but then why did he lend me his coat? Generosity, duh." 

His mind went on and on, he didn't even know if he had enough courage to ask him. Fuck it, he thought, I'm going to do it.  
"De--" He was abruptly cut off right when Dean had said his name at the same time.  
"I'm sorry, you go first." The book dealer chuckled.  
"No, you first." 

"Oh, well I was gonna ask you something..." He stopped in his tracks to face him, rubbing his neck nervously.  
"Oh, sure go ahead." This was it he thought. The end, he's probably going to say that he never wants to see me again. He prepared himself for the hard truth that was about to slap him in the face.

"Well, I..." Dean chuckled apprehensively. "Was wondering...if you would like to...go out with me, sometime?" The last part was close to a whisper.  
However, Mort had heard every word he had said and was in complete shock to where he couldn't move or say anything. His reaction caused the book dealer to shuttered as he waited for him to say no. 

Dean broke the silence by saying, "It's totally fine if you don--"  
"No!" The writer shouted, but didn't mean for it to come out like that. "I mean, yes, I'd love too." He managed to choke out as his face turned a light pink. 

"Really? That's great." Corso smiled big and quickly grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from his satchel, jotting down his number. "Give me a call later and we'll plan it out, yeah?" He handed it to him. 

Mort just stared at it in awe, quickly remembering the numbers.  
"Sure, sounds good." He said with excitement in his voice, looking up at him.   
"I'll hear from you then." The book dealer began to walk off.

"Wait! What about your coat!" Mort called after him.  
"Keep it!" And with that he was gone.  
"Keep it...?" He whispered to himself and hugged the big coat tightly around his body, smiling big. He felt like he'd been relieved of all worries possible.

He headed back to his truck as it was getting later in the day. He kept the piece of paper with Dean's number tightly in his fist, definitely not wanting to lose it.   
As soon as he got to his truck, he hopped in full of joy and closed the door behind him. The realization finally hit him though, he didn't want to return back to his cabin after what had happened that morning. 

He was happy for once in a very long time and returning back to that nut house would definitely destroy his mood.   
Mort rubbed his face in irritation, knowing that his personalities would bombard him with many questions about where's he gone and what's he been up to. 

He had no where else to go though, so it really wasn't a choice for him, maybe he could wish for it to be a quiet night for once. After a long time of thought, he started up the truck and pulled out, resistantly heading home.


	10. Peaceful Evening Nap

The cabin looked as quiet as ever from the outside, but he knew the inside was like a fucking circus. Mort parked his truck, turning it off and he examined the house, trying to find any possible action. None. 

It looked quiet enough to finally go in and with that, he did.   
The writer glanced through the windows as he walked up to the front door, putting his key in and slowly turning the knob as if to be quiet as if someone was sleeping. 

His eyes scanned the place quickly, thankfully finding nothing.   
Mort gave a soft sigh and took off the coat Dean had gave him. He walked over to his couch and laid down happily. 

A quick nap would be good before he calls Dean. He kicked off his shoes, hearing them fall to the floor as he snuggled up to the big coat in his arms, drifting off into a blissful slumber.


	11. The Call

"What do you think of this..?" Said a voice.  
Mort was awakened by faint voices talking and laughing near him, having a conversation of their own and ignoring his existence. 

He slowly came to his senses, but what really made him wake up was that he had noticed Dean's coat was no longer in his arms.   
"How 'bout we burn it?" The other voice chuckled.

Quickly he rubbed his eyes and straightened his glasses as the two figures became more clearer. The writer sat up and stared at them as if to analyze what was going on. Suddenly he noticed that Morton was holding Dean's coat and intervened.

"Hey! What ar--" Mort was cut off just as Shooter had said something.  
"Aye, look who's up now."   
"Yeah and where did you get this hideous thing?" Morton waved the coat around.  
The man sitting on the couch jumped up and snatched the coat out of his hand.  
"What the hell does it matter to you? It's mine." 

Morton scoffed. "The last time I checked, you didn't have that in your closet." He thought for a second, brows furrowing together. "Oh, wait, that's your boyfriend's coat, huh?" He teased.  
"He's not my boyfriend! We're just friends..."

"Ha, I bet it's friends wit benefits." Shooter laughed as he nudged Morton's shoulder.  
Mort looked at the guy in the black hat, dead serious which made him back off with the jokes, raising his hands and surrendering. 

"Can you guys just leave me alone and let me be happy for once?" The writer said desperately.   
"We don't have a problem with you being happy, its just that you belong to us...no one else." The last part sounded almost threatening and he could see it in the other man's eyes, he wasn't messing around. 

"So we will take your word about you guys being 'friends', but if it's more than that...well then things might get sour, understood?" He stared at Mort solemnly then back at Shooter, who was twirling his shovel around with the spade touching the floor, craving a small hole into the wood flooring as he did so.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. The best thing to do in this sort of situation was to just nod and agree. "Understood..." He choked out. 

However, he knew he was going to be in deep trouble because what if this did take off and they started dating and inviting him over... no, he could never do that, he thought. It was for the best, let alone safety of the two of them. 

Again, Mort felt stuck, he either had to move away, well no that wouldn't work either. He sighed thinking things over, maybe it would be better if he didn't call him and just forgot he ever existed, but that would be a huge dick move to not even mention why he should stay away and that things wouldn't work out between them.

He realized that the two insane twins of his departed, only to leave him to suffer with his thoughts as he plopped back down on the couch. He pushed back his sleeve and looked at the time on his watch, 7:18 great...he knew he needed to call him soon, if he didn't, well that would be a decision he'd regret, so it had to be done, but he couldn't go out with him... 

"Fuck, why does everything have to be so hard for me..." He said, gripping his hair tightly. Ok, make the call, tell him we could never see each other again and be done with it, simple. Mort got up and grabbed the telephone that sat on a small round table next to his chair, carrying it back over to where he sat the most. 

He rummaged through Dean's coat and finding his number, he looked at it for a second and thought "Wow, his handwriting is beautiful..." no stop, focus Mort, make the damn call and he punched in the numbers doing so. 

It started ringing and his heart raced, "but I can't say that, I can't do that to him, he didn't deserve it, I can't do this to myself..."   
"What can't you do to yourself?" 

The voice on the other end broke him from his thoughts, though he realized that he was talking rather than thinking. He started to sweat, had he heard everything?   
"Oh, n-nothing..." He cleared his throat. "Hi Dean."   
"Hey Mort, are you still up to going out tonight?"

"Um, yeah, about that..." His voice trailed off, evidently nervous about what to say.  
"You can't go? No, no, it's totally fine, I understand, maybe another time."  
"No! I-Its not that...I want to go, but..." There was a dead silence that weighed on the line. I need to get out though, I need to get the fuck out of here, just tell him yes and it will all be fine, after all he is just my friend, right? 

"But I don't know a good place to go." He played it off so smoothly, or at least he thought so.  
"Oh!" Mort could hear him chortle on the other end. "You had me worried there for a second, I thought you were going to say that you couldn't or better yet that you wouldn't ever want to see me again." 

His remark made the writer chuckle uneasily.   
"No, of course not, why would I ever do that?" He laughed just to reassure him.  
"Ok, well no problem because I actually have a couple of places in mind."   
"Alright, what are they?"

"Well we could go down to that little Italian restaurant at the edge of the town."  
"Umm..."   
"You know the one we walked by."  
"Yeah, I know the place, its just..." There was another brief moment of silence.  
"What is it?"

"You don't know any places outside of town?"  
"No, haven't been around that much yet, if its a problem I could look up another place, if you like."  
"No, its fine." He decided not to give the guy a hard time and just go with the flow.  
"Alright then, I'll be there in 10 minutes."  
"Ok..." They both hung up and Mort couldn't tell whether he was more excited or just nervous. 

A set of hands clapped his shoulders causing him to fly off the couch from surprise, turning around quickly.   
"What the hell do you want?!" The writer said frantically, grabbing his chest.  
"Just wanted to see what you and your 'friend' are up to." Morton said with an unreadable smirk.

"Nothing, just going out to dinner." He took a deep breath, calming down from the scare.  
"Wouldn't that be a date then?" He raised a brow, unmoved.  
"No, nothing like that, its just a sorta thing to get to know each other better..."  
"Hm, alright then." His eyes were fixated on him.

"Yeah if you don't mind, I have to get ready." He pushed him aside, heading upstairs to his room with Morton's eyes still on him, until he closed his bedroom door.


	12. Reservations

Another problem that crossed his mind once he went into his room was, "What am I going to wear?" Mort was never the one to dress "fancy", most of his clothes were rather rugged. 

What was Dean going to wear..? He started to stress over the smallest things, at this point he was entirely nervous.   
Its been too many years to count when he last went on a date. 

For a brief moment everything went quiet even his thoughts, all he could hear was the soft ticking sound of his watch, glancing at it, Mort realized seven minutes have passed.  
"I'm wasting time! Dammit he's going to be here any minute now!"

The door flew open, causing the writer to turn quickly to see what was happening.   
"Is that a Damsel in distress I hear?!" The person crossing the threshold said in a powerful voice.

"Morton! I don't have time for this! Leave!"  
"Why? I'm here to help." He smiled as he walked over to the wardrobe and looked through the clothes. 

"I don't need your help, you can help by leaving."  
"What's the fun in that?" The man in the sweater vest held out a black long sleeve. "Here, wear this." 

"I'm not wearing that." the other man said in a monotone voice.  
"Why not? Shooter's favorite." He sneered.  
"Got that right!" Came a third voice from the back of the room.

They both looked at Shooter, Mort with a pissed off look and Morton with a satisfied one.  
"Ah, more have come to help!" Morton threw his arms out as to emphasis his point.  
There was a knock at the door, causing them all to fall silent.

"Shit...see what you guys do! Make me be late." He snatched the black long sleeve from Morton and threw it on then ran into the bathroom to comb his hair quickly.  
"Knew you'd pick it!" The man who suggested the shirt, crossed his arms in triumph.

"Shut up..." The writer muttered under his breath, passing the two then went down stairs. Of course he wasn't just going to wear a plain black stupid long sleeved shirt, so he grabbed Dean's trench coat off the couch, throwing it on, hoping he'd at least looked decent.      
There was another knock at the door.

"Coming!" And with that he opened the door to find a handsomely dressed and clean cut man waiting on his porch, just for him. He felt so special. "Hi..." was all Mort could say cause his smile cut him off halfway.  

"Hi Mort, you ready to go?" His smile was just as big.  
"Yeah." He said as he stepped outside onto his porch and quickly shut the door behind him, just in case Morton and Shooter where still there. 

"Great, so I already made reservations there." The book dealer said as he walked alongside the writer back to his car.   
"Nice...um by the way I'm sorry I didn't dress 'up to part' for tonight." He chuckled a little embarrassed by what he was wearing and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Mort..." The other man stopped in front of his car and looked at him. "You look perfect." Dean had an innocent smile on his face.   
"I see you're wearing my coat too, its really comfortable, huh?"

Mort's blushing was visible, he couldn't recall the last time he'd be complimented on his look, but it felt so great and especially for it to have come from him. 

"Thank you...and yeah, I really like it." He said as he opened the passengers side door and got in, in which Dean followed suit and started up the car. The ride there was full of conversation.


	13. A Bumpy Start

Dean felt noisy for wanting to ask, but he just had to.   
"So why did you want to go out of town instead?" 

The question caused the writer to swallow hard as he looked out the window as if to find his answer, he didn't know if he should tell him the truth, well part of it or lie to him completely, but he felt a need to be honest with him. 

"Well..." Mort started out slowly. "Uh, there was this thing that happened a year ago and...the towns people never looked or treated me the same...after..."  
"A year ago? Wasn't that when you were going through your divorce?" 

He cleared his throat uneasily, not liking where this was going. "Yeah..."  
"Well I don't get why the towns people would treat you differently after a divorce, I mean everyone goes through them, its not like you killed her or something."  
He chuckled.

The book dealer's remark made his eyes go wide as he continued to stare outside as he found it incredibly hard to breathe, let alone form words into a sentence. The writer was as stiff as stone and this caught the other man's attention.

"Mort?" He furrowed his brows, confused as he laid a hand to his shoulder.   
"You okay?"   
The concrete that surrounded him was chipped away as he felt the mans touch and looked at him, meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm good, just had one of those moments again to where I space out."   
He laughed it off as if it were normal, giving Dean some relief.

"Man, you really scare me with those." He said as he pulled into the parking lot, turning off the car. They both got out and headed over to the entrance of the restaurant. 

The first thing that Mort had done was scan the entire property quickly to see exactly how many people were around, how many inside, but was somewhat difficult due to the tinted windows of the place and what possible dangers could be around. 

However, this was all eased when surprisingly, Dean grabbed his hand, all worrying thoughts had ceased to exist in his mind when he felt that strong, but tender hand wrap around his. 

Making him feel instantly warmer than normal, almost to the point of burning and a painful smile that haunted his face as he was pulled inside the building. Once they crossed the threshold, Mort got an overwhelming anxiety as all the eyes in the place were fixated on them. 

However, they were all on the writer, few glanced at the man he was with, probably wondering if he was crazy too to be with someone like Mort.   
He swallowed hard and tried his best to ignore the multiple eyes on him, so he turned his attention over to Dean and watched him as he talked to the host. 

"Uh, right this way gentlemen." The younger fellow, most likely age of twenty two, guided them over to a booth by the window, right in the front where everyone could see them. That was until Mort spoke up.

"Actually...can we sit over...there?" His voice was low as he pointed to the empty booth in the far right corner of the restaurant.  
The host just stared at him as if he should shut his mouth and sit down. Corso was all too familiar with the look on the kid's face and glared at him back as if to fuck off now.

He placed a soft hand to his back. "Its okay Mort, we can sit here." He motioned for him to sit as he sat across from him. 

The other man hesitated to sit, but causing a scene would be the death of him and with that he did so as the host threw the menus on the table with the most uncaring form and rushed off without another word.

The book dealer leaned forward. "The fuck is wrong with these people?" He practically whispered as he looked out of the corner of his eye, still seeing some people staring at them as if they were criminals or possibly fine art, who knows. 

The writer sighed, clearly upset. "Like I said, they don't treat me right..."  
"I'm sorry you have to go through this, you're a wonderful person." He said as he took his hand into his, rubbing the top of it with his thumb. The gesture put a soft smile to Mort's face causing him to smile too. 

"Well, we're not going to let these losers ruin our night, so shall we?" He purposely said aloud as he picked up a menu and looked through it. 

The writer's smile grew bigger as he loved seeing the confidence in Dean, something he knew he could never have and was thankful to have met a man like him, a protecter almost.


	14. "Fine" Dining

Some time has passed and Corso's patience was starting to be tested. They both had been ready to order 10 minutes ago, not even one person has come to take their drink orders, let alone greet them. 

Dean knew he was one to not be messed with and he knows how to hold his own, but when stuff got on his nerves, he does something about it and now wouldn't be a great time. However, this tension going on inside him had been eased as a waitress came over.

"You the only one working tonight?" The impatient man said, giving her a cold stare.  
"What?"   
"I'll have the five layer homemade lasagna." Corso said as he watched her write it down then looked towards Mort as he pointed to what he wanted, clearly not wanting to talk to anymore strangers tonight. 

He straightened his glasses and said, "And he'll have the classic spaghetti and meatballs."  
The waitress wrote it down, but just as she was about to leave he chimed in again. 

"Oh, and two glasses of wine." He cleared his throat. "Give us your most expensive too and don't take another 30 minutes."   
She had the most plain look on her face as she left.

"So do you plan on writing anymore books soon?" Dean started up the conversation.  
"Not at the moment, my last one was pretty stressful so I'm taking a break I guess."  
There was a brief moment of silence.

"What about you? Have you ever wrote before?"   
"I used to when I was younger, but nothing compared to you. You're the best writer I know." The book dealer chuckled lightly with a blush.

"That means so much..." He gave him an innocent smile with soft eyes.  
He smiled back. "So do you have any other houses than the cabin?"  
"Uh...I did."

"Did? What happened?"  
"It...got burnt down..." Mort choked out as the bad memories flooded his mind.  
"Burnt?! Jesus, I'm glad you're okay."  
"Heh, yeah me too..."

The dark haired man tilted his head slightly to the side, observing the man that sat across from him. "You really do have a different side to you."  
The writer's eyes flew up at him in almost a panic. "What do you mean by that?"

"Just that, you seem to have had a completely different life just a few years ago and now? It seems like you're living a new one, you're quite mysterious. I like that."   
He smirked at him as his eyes locked onto his. 

"I'd love to find out about your past one day."  
"No you don't..." He whispered as he rubbed the back of his neck uneasily.

The conversation had ended shortly as the large plates of food had been delivered to their table, along with their most expensive house special wine and the check already, the waitress and owners of the place clearly wanted them gone quickly. 

The man paying for the meal looked at the check and laughed to himself.  
"Only 50 dollars for two glasses of wine. I was expecting 100 or more for each." He tossed the check to the side. "Cheap place..." He scoffed.


	15. Tension in the Restaurant

They took their time eating, not letting the rest of the people get on them about over staying their welcome, it was a restaurant after all and you're allowed to stay however long you want as long as you give them service. 

The meal was actually very divine to Mort's liking, considering he doesn't get much good food at home anyways. 

The writer saw someone walking up to them and said quietly, "Oh no..." He sunk into the booth, trying to disappear.

Dean looked up from his wine and saw a middle aged man stop next to them.   
"You're not welcomed here! You should be facing the noose or electric chair for what you did!" The random man started to go off as he pointed a finger at Mort threateningly.

Corso reacted fast as he stood up and took a step towards him. "Hey! Easy there crazy!" He held out his hand defensively, not letting this man get any closer to his date. 

"I wasn't talking to you! I'm talking to that psycho!" He looked at the one who was sitting.  
"Yeah, well you're talking to me now!" He put a hand to his chest, pushing him away.  
The offender swatted his hand away and gave him a hard shove. "Back off!"

All the nice and patience left in Dean had vanished as he turned violent, grabbing the collar of his stupid polo shirt and raising him up almost enough to be off the ground. 

It was a painful grip he had on him as he got closer to him, making sure he listened.  
"Hey asshole, if you don't beat it then I'll beat you." He gave him a rough shake, causing him to nod in agreement.

"Good..." He let go of him. "Now fuck off." His eyes pierced into his, menacingly.  
The middle aged man dusted himself off as he walked away as if to regain his confidence.   
The whole restaurant watched the scene, scared about how badly it could have escalated. 

He sat back down again and comforted Mort.  
"Let's get out of here." He said as he left the money with the check and got his glass of wine that was still half full, putting a five dollar bill in there and got a smaller plate, tipping it upside down so the waitress can have fun retrieving her tip for the shitty service. 

The writer was the first one out the door, glad to have been out of that hell house, the other man followed close behind.


	16. Dangerously Falling in Love

The drive back to the cabin was filled with a heavy silence. The man driving was focused on the gravel road while the other was lost in his thoughts. 

"It could have gone so well...that loser just had to ruin our night. What am I going to do? I can't keep dragging Dean along on this roller coaster of a life I have. I feel at fault for it all, well, it mainly is my fault." 

Mort thought and couldn't get the horribly reoccurring images out of his head. "Should I just save us both the trouble and cut him off now while the 'relationship' is still young? Fuck...I don't know the right answer." 

He curled up in his seat and watched the rows of trees pass by. At this point he was mentally exhausted and couldn't wait to get home so he can sleep for hours maybe even days, just to numb his annoying thoughts.

"So what was that all about back there?" The one in the drivers seat asked.  
"What do you mean?"

"That weirdo said you should face the noose or electric chair, why would someone say that?"  
The writer froze, he knew he couldn't keep running form his problems that stood right in front of his face, but he also couldn't risk the chance of telling the truth and destroying everything.

"I don't know, people have wild imaginations, he was probably on drugs and thought I was someone else..." He laughed inside his head, hearing how stupid he sounded.  
"True, after all it is a little shit hole town, no offense."

"Non taken." He chuckled, knowing it was true.  
The book dealer drove up to the cabin and parked to the side. The writer was the first one out, actually loving the sight of his cabin right now, just the thought of sleep made him feel at ease. 

The other man got out too and walked his date up to the front door. The man who lived there unlocked the door and stepped in, inviting him in.  
"I ha-" They both said at the same time.  
"You first." Corso said, chuckling softly.

Mort swept the hair out of his face and rubbed the back of his neck, shyly.  
"I had a great night, well besides all the other stuff, I had fun...with you.."   
His cheeks were hot and bright red, good thing the lights were dim so it wasn't too noticeable.  
Dean smiled down at him as their eyes met. "I did too." 

There was a brief moment of silence as they both stared at each other in a daze.  
The dark haired man cleared his throat. "So what are your plans after this?"

"I'm probably gunna sleep for awhile." He chortled. "What about you?"  
"Well I leave town in two days so I guess explore a little more." 

He nodded and rocked on his heels, they exchanged looks again and the writer noticed he closed his eyes and leaned forward, his thoughts raced a million seconds into one. 

"He's coming in for a kiss, oh my god, what do I do? Wait, he actually likes me? That's crazy...I would have never thought. Hold on...I cant do this, not here." He lost control of his body as he put a hand to his mouth, pushing him away softly then looked down. "I-I'm sorry...but I can't do this..." 

The writer's voice was shaky as he trembled a little, not knowing what he'd just done. He ruined his only chance. 

"Oh." He cleared his throat again. "No, I'm sorry...its too early, I shouldn't have." With that being said he left. Mort stood there, stuck, he didn't know what the right answer was anymore, he felt sick to his stomach. 

He knew he couldn't be with him and that thought haunted his every living second because Morton and Shooter are such a threat to him and what he chooses to do with his life...he just wanted to be free. 

At that moment something snapped in his mind, making him stand upright and look around quickly, finally realizing that the only person he'd cared about just left because of him. His body started moving, it felt like his soul left his body as it chased after the book dealer. 

As he was running he could see him just about to get into his car that was until he grabbed him by the face and crashed their lips together, his soul being put back into his body. Dean's eyes flew wide open, surprised by the attack, but once his hands met Mort's waist, they closed in bliss. 

The writer kissed him passionately, melting into his embrace, his legs went weak as he almost fell against him. However, Corso's hands held him in place, both of them feeling the connection pass through them. 

Dean was the first to pull back, reluctantly, to say breathlessly, "The movies tomorrow at 5pm?"

"Sounds wonderful." He replied quickly then continued the kiss as his hands snaked around his neck, pulling him closer, never wanting to let go of this one and only man that was now his. 

However, great things have to come to an end so the writer pulled back and stared into his beautiful brown eyes with a loving smile. He returned the smile and gave him another peck on the lips.

"How about I walk you up to the door properly this time?"   
"By all means."   
Corso took his hand and walked him back onto the porch and to the front door, releasing him. Mort stood at the threshold and smiled again.   
"I'll see you tomorrow at 5 then." 

"Great, see you then." He grinned back and walked off, the man in the house watched as he did so then closed the door slowly as he drove away, sighing contently to himself. 

The writer decided it was time for bed and turned around to head upstairs, but instead came into contact with a very angry Morton as he stood at the bottom of the stairs with his arms crossed and his eyes giving him the death stare, blocking his way.

"So..." He started as he walked towards him, causing Mort to back up, but to only be stopped by another figure, Shooter.

"Hiya pilgrim." The one in the hat smiled at him as he jumped from the scare, falling against the couch, luckily he caught himself and sat uneasily on the edge of it. His eyes flying between the two. 

"...what was that all about?" Morton continued as he pointed his head in the direction of the door. 

"Yeah, fess up." The other said as he hit the wood floor with his shovel. This was all too much for Mort as he couldn't even think of what to say, his mouth just hung open as he tried to reply.

"I-I um...h-he.." He tried clearing his throat and swallowed hard.   
"You're not making this easy for us Mort." They both got closer to him, making it harder for him to breath, he felt a panic attack coming on. His body was trembling then he blurted out, "I'm sorry, but I love him okay?! Leave me alone!" 

He sunk to the floor in fear. The two standing over him looked at each other and nodded, knowing what to do. Shooter dropped his shovel and harshly grabbed the man on the floor by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet. He held him up as Morton got close to his face.

"You're not allowed to love anyone else, but us!" He grabbed his throat and twisted his head to make him face his, making sure he listened. A few tears rolled down his face, evidently terrified of what's going to happen.

"Do you remember what happened the last time you loved someone other than us?!"  
Morton yelled as Shooter shook him hard and he nodded quickly. "Y-Yes..!"   
"Then I don't get why you want to bring us another victim..." He tightened his grip around his throat, hearing him start to wheeze as his windpipe was being crushed.

"...well ya know 'ow this all ends, and it ain't a 'appy endin'.." Shooter finished Morton's sentence, threateningly. 

"B..ut.." He tried speaking, but the fist around his neck was all too tight, realizing this, he let up his grip a little and let him speak. The writer choked as he sucked in the air harshly, restoring his lungs.

"But, if you try to kill him then I'll kill myself and you guys will cease to exist! Because I rather die than have him be killed! So do it if you fucking dare!" He screamed aloud and the two assaulters had never seen this side of Mort before, it surprisingly shocked them. 

After hearing this, they considered his words and in this state of them two actually being vulnerable, Mort took this opportunity to escape. 

Kicking Shooter hard in between the legs as he collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain and did the same with Morton as he met the other man on the ground. 

He took off at the speed of light, flying out the door and running away into the woods.   
Mort didn't go too far because he was unfamiliar with the woods and he didn't want to get lost. 

Stopping by a tree to catch his breath and check behind him, only to find the darkness and more trees, sighing with some relief.   
He knew he couldn't go back to his cabin tonight, but he needed to rest up for his second date with Dean tomorrow. An idea came to mind, but wasn't particularly his favorite. 

However, it was his only opinion, he thought as he walked back to his cabin and snuck inside the little worn down shed he kept in the back.   
"Wow, haven't been in here for a while." He said quietly to himself as he looked around, noticing how dirty and rotten the wood was. 

Once he found a decent spot to sit down, he let out an upset sigh, hating what his life was coming to, a battle. A battle he knew he wouldn't win and didn't want to be a part of. 

Mort probably would of stayed up throughout the night, but the last few days have been catching up to him, he then decided to sleep. 

The wind whistled through the cracks of the shed, casting a cold breeze against the writer as he pulled the coat closer to him, retrieving some warmth and doze off into a uncomfortably heavy slumber.


	17. Second Date

The weather had been getting colder as the weeks went by, with winter just two months away, rolling in for its three month visit. 

There was a small drip sound, followed by another and many more after that as it started to rain. The water dripped into the shed, having some time pass it began to flood inside. 

A drop hit Mort's face making him slowly and groggily wake up, only to find himself a half foot deep in water. He came to his senses quicker as he jumped up and found his hair and clothes soaked. Looking to his watch and seeing it was 4:00pm. "Shit." 

He said then thought, "Dean's going to be here in an hour, I have to hurry and clean myself up." With that he opened the door of the shed and looked out, it was pouring down hard with dark clouds that covered the sky. 

He was already wet so no point in trying to avoid it. The mud around him was slick, he tried his best not to fall as he made it over to the covered porch and took his shoes off at the door.   
The air brushed against his wet body making him hurry inside to get warm. 

The writer let out a relieved sigh, glad to finally be out of that mess, but to probably walk into another one having been back in his cabin and what had happened last night.

However, his eyes scurried across the place, finding himself alone as a soft smile appeared on his face. Mort shed off his clothes and hung them over the chairs in the dining room to let dry, leaving himself only in his boxers as he headed upstairs to take a quick hot shower. 

He turned on the shower, letting the water run for a bit to warm up. After a few minutes he hopped in and smiled as the warm water touched his face, slicking his wet hair back. 

Once the writer was done washing up, he turned it off and got out as the whole bathroom was covered with steam. 

He opened the door and walked into his bedroom, drying his hair then wrapped the towel around his waist, still noticing that no one was around for once. 

He thought to himself, "Let's hope I can go a whole day without seeing those psychos." He huffed and put on some fresh clothes, feeling a hundred times better after the hot shower. Mort looked over at the clock on his nightstand as it read 4:32pm. 

Good, finally enough time to properly get ready for an evening out with Dean, better yet, to finally be alone while doing it too this time. A quick lunch would be ideal so he made his way downstairs to the kitchen to whip up something. 

There wasn't much left since it's been a couple of weeks since he'd last gotten groceries.   
However, he made do with what he had, making a simple sandwich with his favorite kind of chips, Doritos and a can of Mountain Dew. 

Sitting down at the small dining table that was placed in the corner of the kitchen and enjoying his peaceful cabin for once in a long time. This is how it should be, just him, well with his new addition too, but no one else, living in his cabin. Sadly, that wasn't the case though. 

The writer was enjoying himself, that was until there was a loud bang that came from upstairs, causing him to jump from his seat and look up towards the roof. Curiosity took over him as he dreadfully walked upstairs to investigate. 

He looked around, scared as to what he might find.   
The loft was clear, next was the bedroom, pushing the door open only to find it empty as well...he wondered, "What was that noise?" His brows furrowed and he headed back downstairs, but just as he did so he saw a shadow move across the wooden floor. 

He frantically looked up to the window on the roof and saw a big branch slide off to the ground. The writer laughed quietly to himself, realizing how ridiculous it was that he got so worked up over the storm going on outside. 

Well, it was reasonable for him to, due to the lifestyle he has with this cabin. Mort looked to his watch, it read 4:47. Now would be a good time to get ready and since it was just an evening out to the movies it required comfortable clothes. Good thing he had nothing, but that.

He climbed the stairs once more to his bedroom to change. Throwing on a pair of khaki jeans and a black shirt with a burgundy colored cardigan over top of it. 

He went downstairs to wait for him as he jumped over and plopped down onto his couch. Nestling up for just a moment. Ten minutes had passed and there was a honk outside, causing the writer to jump up excitedly and open the door. 

He saw him running up to the porch since it was still raining outside and he walked out, meeting him halfway as they embraced tightly with big smiles plastered on their faces.   
"Hey, you ready to go?" The dark haired man asked.

"Sure am." His smile never left his face for a second.  
With that they both ran over to the car and got in quickly, trying to keep themselves and the inside of the car dry as they headed off.


	18. A Day to Remember

The sun had been tucked away behind the clouds as it casted a grey blanket across the sky, making it look later than it was. The rain had let up some, just a few occasional drops here and there that the windshield wipers took care of, but nothing compared to earlier. 

However, some clouds indicated a thunderstorm due to how dark they looked.   
Surprisingly enough the cinema wasn't too far from home, neither was it packed either. 

Which was an interesting thought because one would believe that the rain pulled people out of their houses to embrace the different weather for once. 

As it didn't rain much in Tashmore Lake, if one were keeping tally, about six days out of the year. Nonetheless, the sight rejuvenated Mort as he loved the idea of being somewhere alone without too much civilization around to attack him. 

He wasn't entirely alone though, he had Dean with him which made today even better.   
Speaking of today being a good day, another thing that made it extra special was not seeing any of his personalities come by. 

"Could this day get even better?" He thought. Probably not, he wasn't one to be chosen for luck. His thoughts scrambled and disappeared as he heard the car turn off, seeing the book dealer get out in which he followed suit. 

Walking up to the place he felt an arm sling around his shoulder, pressing him against a body. The writer looked up as the other man looked down and they exchanged smiles. They went up to the podium and bought two tickets for the newest horror movie playing. 

After having access in, they made their way over to the concession stand and bought what they wanted. 

There was some time till the movie started. Finding the right room that showcased the movie, they nestled into their seats and watched the previews of the next upcoming films. As the theater lights dimmed, the screen flicked on the movie. 

Some time had passed and Mort's head had found its way onto Dean's shoulder as he grabbed his arm, practically on the edge of his seat. The film was half over and the dark haired man couldn't help himself, finding it difficult to sit still with Mort pressed against him. 

Although, that wasn't the only thing pressing against something as wanting shivers ran down his spine. With a swift move his lips were locked onto the writer's, the kiss quickly became heated. As both of their hands explored each others body, craving more and more with every second. 

At this point the movie just became background noise and were no longer paying attention, being so focused with one another. Mort was inching his way onto Dean's body as he climbed over to sit comfortably on his lap. 

Corso's hands found its way to his ass, cupping it while the writer's were glued to his face, reeling him in for a deeper kiss. They were both getting equally hot in that seat. 

The book dealer then decided to take action and get the hell out of there so they can have a better time with this. Completely forgetting the movie, he stood up causing Mort to wrap his legs around his waist as he held him up and walked outside. 

With passionate kisses in between. He let him go so he could slip into the car with him, only to rejoin their mouths, fiercely demanding more. 

The drive back to the cabin was the most painful ride ever for the both of them as they couldn't keep their hands to themselves. The man in the passenger seat crawled over to the driver to kiss his neck repeatedly, making him chuckle as it tickled and planted a kiss to his nose. Keeping his eyes on the road.

Getting back home was faster than actually getting to the cinema, only because love took control. Parking the car quickly as they both jumped out at the same time. Dean roughly grabbed Mort's hips, walking him backwards and slamming him against the wall of his house, crashing their lips together again. 

This earned a moan from the writer, loving the force from Corso as he spun him around and walked carefully, but quickly up the few stairs to his porch. 

"One second." The owner of the cabin said, breathlessly as he fumbled with his keys, shaking with excitement and somehow managed to unlock his front door. Then he instantly shed off his cardigan, tossing it aside as Dean did so too with his coat. 

Connecting their lips once again, never wanting to part now as they were slowly becoming one. 

Their feet never stopped moving as they struggled to get upstairs in time, ripping each other's clothing off one by one as they climbed the stairs with their bodies stuck to one another. 

Breathless moans and groans escaped their lips as they fell onto the bed together with smiles and soft chuckles. The last piece of clothing was removed simultaneously and carelessly tossed away. Corso placed himself in between Mort's legs as they strangled his back, pressing him tightly against his body. 

The dark haired man leaned over him and started at his neck, kissing and biting away. Earning small gasps and moans from him as his hands grabbed his sides, sliding down slowly. 

The writer placed his hands onto the other man's head as he made his way down, kissing every inch of his torso. This made him arch his back, his body craving for more. The book dealer couldn't wait another second as he was about to enter him, the one laying down yelped and put a hand to his chest, stopping him. 

"W-Wait..." He started. "I'm nervous.."   
"Ok, one second." Dean quickly jumped off the bed to retrieve his pants and pulled out a small bottle of lube, coming back. Mort watched as he lubed himself up and settled back in between his legs, spreading them a little further. 

He grabbed onto his broad shoulders, squeezing tightly and readied himself for penetration. His eyes shut tightly as pain shot through his body.  
"Tell me if I'm hurting you."  
"N-No...keep going."

With that, he slowly slid in further groaning with pleasure as he could feel how tight he was. However, on Mort's end it was nothing, but pain. That soon let up though once he was in all the way and started slow with his thrusts, courteous to not hurt him too much. 

There was a groan of pain as it turned into a whimper of pleasure, feeling that he came in contact with the sweet spot. Dean picked up the pace as he leaned over him and grabbed his hip, steading him in place. 

The writer's body eased up after a few minutes, allowing him to feel all the pleasure. Each thrust seemed to get harder and faster, making them sweat as their body temperatures were instantly rising. 

There was a flash that lit up the whole room and a loud boom from the thunderstorm going on outside, making this special moment even more electrifying and exciting. 

The room was fairly dark and when a bolt made contact with the ground it lit up the book dealer's face as he pounded into him, arousing him more. The look was almost menacing, but very sexy to the writer's liking. 

Corso hit the spot with each thrust, making Mort a moaning mess. He swept his sweaty hair back and arched his back as he gripped Dean's bicep, tightly. He could feel the pressure build up inside him, holding on his release so he can overload harder. 

However, it was a challenge as he bit down on his bottom lip, almost to the point of it bleeding. With his entire body starting to go numb, he never felt so much satisfaction before. Dean squeezed his hip and thrusted into him roughly, letting out harsh grunts that vibrated through his throat. 

His breathing was heavy, but was cut off as he leant forward and gripped the bedsheets, unloading into Mort with a loud groan, throwing his head back. 

Within a few seconds later the writer arched his back and climaxed hard onto his stomach as he shrieked out a lustful moan. His body shaking violently from the amazing orgasm. Corso's arms were shaking too as he collapsed next to him, blissfully exhausted. 

They laid there silent, giving themselves a moment to catch their breath and regain strength. Mort reached over to his nightstand, getting a tissue to clean himself up.   
Then turned to Dean and smiled with tired eyes as he yawned softly. 

The other man retuned the smile and moved closer to him, wrapping an arm around his smaller body. He lifted the covers over them and snuggled up behind him, nuzzling his face into his neck. 

"That was amazing." The writer said through a smile.  
"It sure was." He replied into his skin then kissed it.  
The dark haired man was the first to doze off as he breathed quietly against him, still tightly in his embrace. Mort didn't even know where to begin. 

He felt like the luckiest person on earth, which was a first. He fell solemnly into his thoughts as he nuzzled his face against the pillow. Another thought was, "How did I get so lucky? Even just being in his arms makes me feel safe and loved. Clear of worries and fear..." 

He placed his hand over his and held it tightly, smiling happily to himself as his eyes closed. Today did get even better and it was one he'll remember forever.


	19. The Next Day

The storm had passed as the bright morning sun shined in through the windows. Casting light shadows against the two figures sleeping soundlessly in bed. 

It was one of those beautiful days after a storm, where the trees had fresh drops of rain water still left on them as it fell to the rich soil, nourishing it. The wind was chilly, but light as it blew the fall leaves across the ground. 

The cabin had been full of blissful silence as the two slept.   
Having a few hours pass, the sun shifted as it rose upwards to claim the day. Moving its rays to rest on the writer's face, waking him up as the warm sun kissed him. His body never felt so good before, although, it did have slight pain to it. 

Mainly in specific areas. He looked down to see Dean's hand still on him as he smiled happily and flipped over to face him. 

His smile grew wider as he loved the sight of him sleeping quietly on his bed. A face he knew he definitely wanted to wake up to every morning for the rest of his life.

Something he never thought would happen, to have someone he finally loves to love him back just as much. However, was it love though? 

It seemed way too early to know, but he never felt this excitedly warm feeling in his chest that flowed through his body with anyone before. Not even with his ex wife he'd been married to for ten years. So is this what love really feels like? 

He wondered as he watched him contently, he put a soft hand to his face and caressed it. The slow movement woke him up as his eyes gradually opened to meet with his. 

He moved his hand up to his that rested on his face and smiled back, taking it into his own. Intertwining their fingers and drawing it back to plant a kiss to his palm, saying, "Good morning." 

"Good morning to you too." He chuckled, looking at him with loving eyes.  
Dean let out a hearty yawn as its been awhile since he'd had a good sleep, especially after a night like that. 

Stretching greatly to hear a few old joints pop to release pressure and sighed contently, feeling better. He reached over to the nightstand next to his side of the bed and grabbed his glasses putting them on and sat up against the headboard. 

Mort watched him do so and moved over to rest his body on top of his, staring up at him like a puppy. 

He looked down at him with better vision, noticing how cute he looked after a good nights rest with his hair sprawled out everywhere, running a hand through it. 

The writer melted against his hand as it stimulated the senses in his head, making his eyes close in a trance. 

This earned a smile from the book dealer, continuing to massage his head. However, the smile on his face didn't last long as a thought crossed his mind. He realized that he couldn't stick around forever, he had a life to get back to as he was leaving tomorrow. 

Corso's hand froze, falling to the side as the dreadful thought plagued his mind. The other man opened his eyes to find his loved one in somewhat of a distressed state.   
"Something wrong?" He inquired, raising a brow to some concern.

He looked down at him with sad eyes. "I leave tomorrow..."  
Mort heard what he said, but it took a moment to process it, his mind not wanting to believe it. This is where his luck ran out. 

To have all this great stuff happen to him in an instant then to have it ripped away just as quickly. He placed a hand to his chest, gripping softly. 

"But...you can't.." He whispered. "You can't..." All the life drained out of him.  
Dean looked away, hating the sight of him hurting. Maybe there could be an alternative. After some thought a smile ripped his face as he quickly said, "Well, why don't you come with me?" Maybe there was some hope after all.

"Go with you..?"   
"Yeah." He grabbed his hands and looked him straight in the eye. "Move away with me, Mort."   
He smiled loving his enthusiasm, but the smile faded, he knew he couldn't move. Not now, not ever. 

"Look Dean, I'd love to, more than anything, but...I can't." It hurt him to say it.  
"Why not?" He shifted uneasily as his brows furrowed, confused because he thought they really hit it off and were for one another. 

The writer hesitated while being on the spot, not knowing what to say or how to word it.  
"Its not your fault, I swear. If anything it's my fault."  
"Why would you say that?"

"Because I'm 'attached' to this place, I literally can't leave even if I wanted to." He looked to the floor and sighed.  
"Mort...is there something you're not telling me?"

The question made his intestines twist in knots. "No." There was no choice, but to lie.  
"Then take this step with me even if its hard..." He lifted his chin up. "...because I want to be with you because...I love you." 

In that split second after hearing him say that he loved him, made the world stop around him. Stopping time itself as he felt like he was floating through the clouds. His body went entirely numb, "How could a few simple words make you feel nothing, but everything at the same time?" He wondered. 

Nonetheless, this was the step he was going to take, whether it killed him or not. He didn't care what anyone else thought, he just wanted Dean, nothing more and for once, he was going to do something for himself. By taking the leap.

That's all he ever wanted, even just knowing him for a few days, to him it felt like they've been together forever; to be wanted by him. The writer lunged forward and crashed their lips together, fervidly. 

The sudden movement took him by astonishment, evaporating into the kiss. Mort crawled further up his body and straddled his lap, cupping his face. Causing the other man to snake his arms around his slender waist. 

He pulled back to say, "Yes, I will go away with you!"  
They smiled simultaneously and embraced tightly. 

"That's wonderful!" He exclaimed, nuzzling his face into his hair, affectionately. They held that position for a good few moments. 

"So where is it that you live?" He sat back and looked into his brown orbs.   
"Manhattan, New York."  
He was familiar with the place as he'd traveled there a couple of times for some business. The thought of living in a busy city for however long, bothered him. 

He hated civilization and didn't want to be seen by anyone, but he knew he'd be with Dean the entire time. So it can't be that bad right? 

"I can't wait." Was all he could say, he didn't want to discourage him.  
"It'll be great, don't worry." He assured him and put a hand to his face, lovingly.  
Mort smiled, he didn't know how he did it, but Dean had always found a way to make him smile in the worse times. 

He went in for another kiss, he couldn't help it. The writer just wanted to cling to him forever, never letting go because for once, something good happened to him. 

As they were showing their love for one another, there was a loud bang that came from downstairs and made them stop to look in the direction of the gaping door. 

Then back at each other. It sounded like a table had been flipped over. Mort moved to the side as Dean said, "Wait here, I'll check it out." Putting a hand to his chest, reassuring him to stay just in case something bad happened, he didn't want him to get hurt. 

Corso got out of bed and put on his pants, moving slowly to not cause a ruckus because he was unaware of what could be going on downstairs. 

The other man sat uneasily in bed, wanting to go with him, but did as he was told. He opened to door further and stuck his head out to look over the loft which was empty then glanced downstairs.

"What do you see?" The writer whispered out.  
"Nothing yet." He said as he walked out and started to descend down the stairs to the living room. At this point the man in bed couldn't sit still any longer as he jumped out of bed, quickly putting on a pair of pants to join him. 

Dean looked all around, checking the kitchen and everywhere. However, nothing was out of place.

"I don't get it, what was that noise then?" He looked to the man coming down as he scratched his head, perplexed.   
"Maybe something from outside?" He shrugged his shoulders.  
"No...it sounded like it came from inside." He replied as he walked around the couch and saw something on the floor, bending down to retrieve it.

"What is it?"  
Corso held up a wide brim black hat and looked at it curiously then to Mort.   
"A hat?" He questioned. 

The sight of that hat made the writer go entirely white as his knees went weak, struggling to hold himself up. "Get rid of it." He said blankly and immediately.

"Why? I think it's kinda cool looking." He chuckled and put it on. The other man's eyes went wide as he watched him put it on and ran over in a split second, instantly snatching it off. "No!" 

The book dealer looked at him very confused by his reaction.  
"Why? What's wrong with it?"   
"I...just don't want this around, I want it thrown away, right now." 

Dean's eyebrows stayed knitted together, still not understanding, but did as he was told. Taking the hat from his hands and walked outside to dispose of it. While he did that, Mort gripped his hair tightly and hunched over in a panic. 

He knew what was happening and he was terrified. This was a warning not only to him, but to Dean as well. Pacing back and forth, shaking, his mind raced. "This can't happen, but it is. I don't know what to do, there's no solution. Help. Help. Help." His mind repeated this phrase over and over. 

Hearing the door reopen, he acted natural. He could never let him find out about this, he just wanted them to be happy and with one another. He greeted him with a smile and out of nowhere hugged him hard. He accepted the hug and held him, securely.


	20. A Little Something

Later that day, the sun had vanished beyond the earth to hide away for a couple of hours as the moon rolled in to claim the sky. 

It was one of those romantic moons out on display tonight, full and brighter than ever with a hint of yellow infused into it. As it cased light beams across the sky and lit up the woods. 

One of the rays beamed in through the window on the roof of the cabin. That window was something else as it silhouetted the two beings on the couch, making out. However, that wasn't the only light that attached to the beings. 

There was a fire crackling and popping as the black smoke rose up to escape the chimney and meet with the dark sky.

The yellowish-red flame flickering and floating up to lightly toast the bricks of the mantle.   
It had died down a bit, since it was lit over an hour ago, maybe one was trying to set the mood or rather the weather had got to them. 

It was that time of year to bring out the hot cocoa, warm blankets and fires to snuggle up to. Over on the couch they were a tangled mess of limbs as they squirmed over one another, trying to satisfy their hungry need for each other. 

Mort laid on top of Dean, running his hand along his hair and gripping it as he deepened the kiss. 

He moaned out and grabbed his side, tightly, tugging at his shirt. The writer let up and looked down at him with mischievous eyes as he crawled his way down Corso's body. 

Undoing the buttons of his shirt slowly then to plant kisses down his toned chest. The other man watched with a smirk as he did so. 

Mort looked up every once in a while as he made his way down to his pants, giving his belt a tug, teasingly. The book dealer bit down on his bottom lip as he knew where this was going and loved it. 

He dropped the belt to the floor and unzipped his trousers slowly, causing the one under him to squirm, wanting to release the pressure from his groin. 

The writer stuck his hand in his boxers and gripped him, pulling out his hard member. He looked up at him as he slowly went down on him. Dean looked down and the sight of him was so arousing it drove him crazy as he felt spikes throughout his body. His lips made contact. 

Just that soft feeling of warm lips touch his sensitive area made him moan out instantly. Mort kept his hand wrapped around the base and took it further down his throat, sucking softly at first. 

It didn't take long for him to pick up the pace as he bobbed his head up and down, going lower each time. 

Jerking the base up towards his mouth, giving him double the pleasure. Corso arched his back and gripped the top of the couch, groaning out loudly in gratification. Hearing his groans encouraged him to go harder, gripping him firmly and jerking faster as he sucked away. 

His other hand slithered up past his thigh and dug his nails into his stomach. Dean's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he gritted his teeth from the pain, squeezing the cushion of the couch. 

Becoming overwhelmed with pleasure that literally blew him out of this world. It wasn't long till he climaxed hard with a shriek as the other man swallowed every last sweet bit of him, licking his lips with a smile. 

The book dealer grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him up quickly, devouring his mouth as he tasted himself. The writer pressed against his trembling body as he melted into the kiss. Intertwining their tongues, exchanging moans. 

Corso pulled back and saw how dark Mort looked, noticing that the fire went out and decided it was time for bed.   
Dean yawned and smiled softly at him. "Time for bed."  
"But I'm not tired, yet." 

"We have a big day tomorrow, c'mon." He zipped up his pants and sat up.   
"No, I'm not ready yet." Mort got up and tried to walk away, but the other man grabbed his wrist as he stood up and spun him around. "Where do you think you're going?"   
"Outside." 

"No you're not." He said and with a swift move, picked him up and threw the writer over his shoulder.   
"Hey!" He chuckled, dangling from his shoulder.

The book dealer smiled and carried him up the stairs to the bedroom. Then laid him down on his side of the bed as they both shed off their clothes and got under the covers together. Smiling happily at one another. 

Mort scooted closer to him and burrowed his head under Dean's chin, curling up. The dark haired man wrapped an arm around his smaller frame and kissed the top of his head. After some time they were both in a blissfully heavy slumber.


	21. Moving Day

It was early in the morning and the birds had began chirping among the trees. For some that was all that was needed for an alarm clock and they were up and ready to start their day.

Others, however, needed something a little more...boisterous. Ring. Ring. RINGGG. The old fashioned alarm clock on Mort's nightstand went off in a frenzy. Waking up the sleepy writer as he lazily reached over to shut off the annoying device. 

In which a failed attempt, ended up knocking it to the floor, creating more noise as it rattled and vibrated against the wooden floor boards. The other man in bed slowly came to, from all the ruckus going on. 

His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to see what was going on, but was blinded by the sunlight. 

"Mort...?" He questioned in a hoarse voice.  
The writer put on his glasses and found the clock, turning it off with a satisfied sigh as he slumped onto the bed. 

"Don't bother, I got it..." He said quietly with a yawn followed after. Slipping under the covers once again and snuggled into his pillow.   
Dean rubbed his eyes and put his glasses on, his vision becoming clearer. He looked to the man falling back asleep and nudged him.

"There's no time to go back to sleep, thats why I set the alarm. We have to get moving."  
"Later..." The reply was muffled. 

He rolled his eyes and got out of bed. "I'm going to make some coffee then, come down when you're up." He said as he put on Mort's robe, in which he found very cozy and headed downstairs. 

All the writer wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn't even do that. It was too early for his thoughts to attack him right now. He thought. 

Nonetheless, they managed to grab ahold of him. "Today's the day. The day I actually leave this god forsaken place, but is that a good thing? I don't think so...well nothing I can do about it now." 

His mind continued to ramble on as he grabbed his pillow and tried to suffocate himself, wanting to quiet it. Then felt a hand touch his stomach, causing him to jolt up and throw the pillow aside, scared. 

Only to see Morton sitting on the edge of the bed next to him with that unsettling smile of his.   
"Mort, its going to be okay. We'll be with you, don't worry."  
"But that's the last thing I want!"

"Mort..."  
"Why can't you guys just stay here? Please, I just want to be alone with Dean." The writer begged.  
"Oh, Mort." He chuckled. "You know that can't ever happen." 

He buried his face in his hands, frustrated. Then came another voice, making him look up to find a lovely sight of Shooter standing next to the door.  
"Wherever ya go, we go. That's 'ow it's always bin." 

"You guys seriously need to get out of here before Dean comes back."  
"Yea? So what, 'e is gunna 'ave to see us eventually." He smirked.

"No! That can't ever happen!" He started to rise up from the bed, full of anger. Morton put a soft hand to his chest, trying to calm him down, but was swatted away.   
The sound of footsteps climbed the stairs and entered the room.

"Mort, who are you talking to?" He looked to the writer on the bed, confused.  
He sat against the headboard, mentally exhausted and rubbed the side of his face.  
"Sorry, musta been sleep talking." He looked to the floor. 

He nodded, understanding and made his way over to him, taking a seat. Offering him a cup of coffee in which he took thankfully. 

He held the warm cup in his hands and hung over it, letting the steam refresh his face. Taking a hearty sip, instantly making him feel better and more awake. 

"Oh, before we get out of town and hit the road, I need to stop by the motel I'm staying at to collect my belongings." The book dealer spoke up.  
"Yeah, sure. Where are you staying at?"

"Small place out on route 7, Randy's Woodlands.  
"Oh..." He nodded slowly with his eyes fixated on the mug as flashbacks flooded his mind of the wretched place. 

That was the last place on earth he'd ever want to go back to, but it was for a quick stop. "I'll manage," he thought as he finished his coffee. 

"I see you've found my robe." He chuckled softly, eyeing him up.  
"Yeah, very comfortable, if you don't mind me wearing it." He gave a half smile.  
"By all means." The writer said, returning the smile and got out of bed to get dressed for the long day, awaiting. 

Dean went to go fetch the suitcases for Mort and helped him pack up what he needed. He didn't have much clothes to begin with so he ended up fitting his whole wardrobe into the two luggages along with other stuff. 

The dark haired man finished up grabbing the last of his clothes when something fell from the top shelf, making a soft sound as it made contact with the floor boards. 

"Mort..." He started as he picked up the object. The other man turned around.  
"I thought I threw this away?" The book dealer said in a perplexed voice as his mind didn't comprehend the situation. 

He held up the wide brimmed black hat up once again. The sight of it made the writer fall through the floor, his heart caught in his throat. "I swear, I need to burn that thing..." He choked out, not believing his eyes. 

"Well, what do you want me to do with it?" He asked. "I feel like whatever we do with it, it'll comeback somehow..." 

"You're probably right." He let out an uneasy laugh as he swept the hair out of his face in distress. "Just uh, leave it here." 

He agreed and put it back into the closet, closing it then got an eerie shiver down his back as he did so, but thought nothing of it. 

They finished up packing and loaded up the truck with the luggages. They both agreed it would be better to take Mort's truck instead of Dean's because it had more space to fit things. Also so the writer can have some familiarity and connection to home as they moved away. 

He took one last look around the place before they headed off, stepping off the porch and getting into the passengers seat. Corso followed suit and started up the old vehicle. 

"You gunna miss the place?"   
"Yeah, but change is good right?"  
"Only if you're with the right person." He chuckled.

"And that I am." He smiled happily. "However, we'll be back anyways. I can use a vacation."   
"That's the spirit." He slapped a hand to his shoulder with a grin then drove off.


	22. Long Day

The truck's engine gave off a soft hum as it drove along the gravel road. Bouncing ever so slightly due to its old sensitivity in its build. They haven't been on the road too long, but the writer had ended up falling asleep within a few minutes. 

The silence that filled the air and hearing the light wind whistle through the cracks of the window, casted him off into a peaceful slumber. The driver veered off to a single road that led to the isolated motel. 

As the truck came to a halt and Dean got out to gather his stuff from his room, Mort noticed the stillness and fully came to. He was a light sleeper after all, but wished he'd stayed asleep just a little longer because the sight he woke up to, wasn't the one he wanted. 

However, fate decided to torture him. He instantly felt an uneasiness flow through his body as he unconsciously picked at his nails, chewing his bottom lip.  
"Hurry up..." He whispered to himself.

His eyes scanned the place frantically as his whole body started to become fluttery. He had no control left of his body as his foot began to tap the floor nervously and fumbled with his fingers, cracking them to hopefully distract and soothe himself. 

Mort could practically feel a panic attack slowly coming on, shutting his eyes tight and curling up in the seat as vivid memories flooded his mind.

It felt like he had been gone for hours, it wasn't that hard to grab a few belongings, right? The writer then jumped to the sound of the trunk being opened as he turned back to see that the book dealer was loading up his stuff, relieved, but still anxious because he couldn't wait to never see this place again. 

After it was shut he returned to the driver's seat and started it up. Dean looked to him and noticed how antsy he was, cocking his head with confused interest.  
"Something wrong?"

He gave him a blank stare, trying to find the right words in a hurry.   
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." He replied quickly and adjusted himself. "Just woke me up when you opened the trunk." He laughed it off.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." 

"No, its okay, I've had enough sleep for today." He smiled to reassure him that it was fine. As he did the same and drove off, getting back onto the main road to their far destination.

They drove a few hours through the woods and passed a few small towns, making occasional stops to fill up on gas. It wasn't long till they were heading into the city. However, that meant more traffic and delayed time, but they were in no rush. 

It was also nice to see new sights and not just trees for once. Mort wished the radio had worked because its been awfully quiet for the time being. He then decided to make conversation, or at least try to.

"Have you always lived alone?"  
The driver glanced at him then back at the road, wondering whether or not to tell him something of the sorts, but thought, best to keep it simple. "Yeah."   
"Don't you ever get lonely?" 

"Sometimes, but I have you for that now." He let out a soft chuckle. This earned a smile from the writer.  
"What about you?" Dean inquired.

"I've been living on my own for the past year..." There was more to say because he knew it wasn't all true. He'd been living with his two psycho twins that haunt him wherever he goes. Although, he knew he couldn't exploit that information. 

"I'm guessing you like it, right? Considering you're a writer and all."   
"Yeah, it has its perks sometimes..." His voice trailed off as he stared out the window, looking over the unfamiliar buildings. 

Having been and going to a new place made him anxious inside, but knowing that Dean was right there with him, eased his nerves. Mort had never felt that way with anyone else before, not that he'd been with a lot of people, but it was a feeling he couldn't explain. 

"We'll be there shortly. I figure an hour at the most." Corso spoke up.  
"Good to know." He said while stretching then laid his head back, unaware that he began to nod off again.

The driver looked over at the sleeping body and smiled to himself. There was just something about the sight of him sleeping that was so innocent and vulnerable that he found heart warming. 

However, he couldn't watch him forever, he had to focus on the road and that he did. There will be other opportunities to gaze upon his being, he thought. The book dealer didn't think weird of this, it was just an act of love. 

He wished he'd been the one sleeping right now, knowing he could really use it, after driving for nine straight hours. They could've switched every couple of hours, but he insisted to be the one to drive, plus he knew his way around almost any place, having been a traveler for decades. 

As the landmarks and streets started to become more familiar, he knew that they were getting close to their destination. Dean knew he didn't have much to offer, having been living in a small apartment for the past five years and owning a book shop. 

He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Mort loves him. Maybe it isn't all about money, rather its a partnership he sought. Corso wasn't familiar with this idea, he'd always been known to basically "buy" his partners, or that's what they were after instead of him. 

So of course he was hesitant at first, but he saw something different in Mort like he'd never seen before. Someone he could feel a genuine connection with. 

Although, feeling the difference in him didn't feel all great, he could tell there is a hidden past about the writer.   
Something he wanted to know, the mystery about the man intrigued him. Although, he knew not to press the thought upon him, that was the last thing he wanted to do was to trouble him. 

Mort on the other hand was tangled in his dreams. He awoke in his bed frantically as he searched around for Dean, but found no one. It was dark with no moonlight to guide him, just a black void that swallowed him. 

He could feel his heart beat against his hand as he clutched his chest tightly, unaware of what was going on. Not only was it dark, but a dead silence weighed in the air, enough to suffocate someone. 

The writer dared to step a foot off his bed as he went to look for Dean, he needed him. Feeling around his surroundings and making his way out onto the loft. Still pitch black. He instantly remembered he had a flashlight in a drawer of his desk. 

Stumbling over his feet he found the wooden structure and began rummaging through the drawers and grabbed what felt like a flashlight.   
Relieved, he flicked it on as it lit up a part of the wall. Mort quickly turned around to what sounded like running footsteps. 

"Who's there?!" He called out, waving the light around crazily. No answer. He then had to investigate, moving cautiously over to the stairs. He made sure he lit up every inch of the cabin as he descended down the stairs. 

"Dean...?" He questioned worried and in that split second there was an ear piercing noise, causing him to wince. The sound came from the kitchen, turning around to shine the light there, he couldn't believe what he saw. 

In that sheer moment of complete shock, he dropped the flashlight as it still partially lit up the kitchen. It took a few good seconds for his brain to process the sight he was seeing. He felt every muscle in his body contract and his heart about ready to explode. 

What laid on the floor was Dean's body and a large pool of blood surrounding him and what looked like gun next to his head. The writer couldn't speak or think, he was just as dead as him, but still standing. 

In a swift move Mort was grabbed from behind as a strong hand that was wet wrapped around his mouth and what he could taste was a horrible metallic liquid as his head was yanked back forcefully.   
"Gotcha pilgrim." 

He instantly woke up and shot forward from his seat, screaming, causing the driver to jump from the surprise and swerve uncontrollably as multiple horns went off. He quickly steadied the wheel and breathed out, panicked.

"Mort what's wrong?!" The book dealer looked at him startled and worried.  
The writer himself was trying to process what just happened as he caught his breath. Looking around to find himself in the truck on the road with Dean next to him.

"I...had a nightmare..." He said drained, sweeping the damp hair out of his face from sweating. He definitely didn't want to go back to sleep for a while now.   
"Oh, well you gave me quite the freight."   
"Sorry, it terrified me." 

"What was it about?"  
"I...rather not say..." He nodded, understanding. Mort looked down and replayed the images in his mind. There had to be a reason behind it, but what? Maybe it had to do with the move. He felt a sense of hate flow through him and he knew it came from them. 

Or it could be foreshadowing something. The thought of ever losing Dean made his insides feel twisted, he felt like he was going to be sick, but managed to keep himself steady. He continued thinking about every outcome of the nightmare and evaluating any possible meaning behind it. 

However, the writer was ripped away from it as the truck stopped, making him look up.   
"Well, we've finally made it." Dean sighed happily as he turned off the vehicle.

Mort's nerves came back to him as he looked around and saw the busy traffic that surrounded the facility, not particularly his favorite thing, but made an exception for the book dealer. They both got out and met up behind the truck to gather their belongings, luckily there wasn't many so that meant not having to come back for a second trip. 

The dark haired man took the lead, knowing his way around the place as the other followed close behind. It wasn't much of a journey as they headed upstairs, having lived on the second floor in the far corner of the complex. 

Away in a secluded spot, just the way they both liked it. The luggages were set aside as he gathered his keys and unlocked the door, going in. They both set their baggage by the door as he closed it behind them, then turned to face him.

"I know its not much bu-" He was cut off just as Mort put a finger to his mouth.  
"Its perfect." He said with a bright smile and kissed him, causing Dean to melt into him as he wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer. 

That's all he ever wanted to hear. Just to know that someone doesn't care about how he lives, where he lives, money or anything like that, just to love him, and damnit he was going to show his love and appreciation for him. 

The book dealer then grabbed his side tightly and quickly backed him against the wall, locking their lips together again. The writer was taken by surprise as he didn't know what came over him all of the sudden, but he definitely loved it. 

The smaller man jumped up, wrapping his legs around him as the other caught him and pressed their bodies together. 

The situation was getting heated real quick as they devoured each others mouths with exploring hands pulling off clothing. The dark haired man then carried him to the bedroom, never disconnecting their hungry lips. Dean pushed him back onto the bed and took off his pants in a hurry as the other man did so too. 

He then slowly crawled over him and licked his way up to his neck, giving him a soft bite to the collarbone. Mort squirmed under him, eager for more. A hand met his waist and squeezed, causing him to buck his hips from the teasing. 

The book dealer then placed himself to enter as the one laying down nodded, ready. This time it was sweet bliss that he felt, gasping as he arched his head back. The further he went in, the better it felt, mild pain, but manageable. Once he hit the base, he began to thrust back and fourth, quickly picking up speed. 

Having to waste no time because he wanted him, all of him right away. He wanted to feel the pleasure instantly and he wanted to see him feel it too, it was a fiery love that burned inside him. He was his. 

Arching himself over the writer he thrusted hard and deep with quick speed, hitting the spot each time and he knew it, due to the moans and groans escaping from the other's lips. Mort forcefully pulled him closer and dug his nails along his back wanting it harder. 

This caused Dean to grit his teeth in pain, but it only pushed him to try and rip him apart. The pain increased inside him, but the sensation numbed it greatly as he yelled out his name, climaxing hard in between them. With a few last thrusts he finished himself off too, satisfied and exhausted after today. 

Finding a spot next to him, panting heavily as he wrapped an arm around his quivering frame. The writer wiped the sweat from his forehead and turned over to face him with a tired smile.   
They both closed their eyes, the book dealer was the first to fall asleep. 

However, Mort knew after that nightmare he had, he couldn't go back to sleep, for once he wasn't tired either. Some time passed and Dean had been out long enough to be in a deep sleep by now. 

He then decided to go explore, it was his place now after all, right? Being ever so cautious not to wake the sleeping man holding him as he gently lifted his arm and rested it beside him. Slipping slowly off the bed and retrieved some pieces of clothing to throw on as he walked silently out of the bedroom. 

He looked down the hall and started to wander. He didn't understand why Dean beats himself up so much about the place to him, its not too small or big, just the right amount of cozy. Especially just for the two of them, or four... 

There was multiple rooms, a kitchen and living room of course, bathroom, balcony, everything you needed to live. One spot that mainly caught Mort's eye was the library he had, stacked beautifully along the walls and around the fireplace. 

However, they weren't your "normal" store bought books, they looked more...ancient. He took a few steps closer to touch the delicate binding that encased them all. "Why does he collect such creepy looking books?" He whispered to himself, looking around. 

"Maybe its to summon the devil." The voice laughed.  
The writer flew around to the unexpected voice, panicked. Morton.   
"What the fuck are you doing here?!" He hissed, trying not to be loud.   
"Oh honey, you think just by relocating that I won't come too?" He shook his head in a mocking way. 

"You're the devil I swear, maybe one of these books will finally cast you off to hell where you belong." Mort rolled his eyes.   
Morton got closer to him and wrapped his arms around him. "And you'll come with me." The stupid smirk was on his face again. 

"Don't touch me." He shoved him off and walked over to the other side of the room, wanting as much possible distance.   
"Maybe you'll rethink everything now."  
He looked over at him, pissed off. "What do you mean?"

Morton went to go retrieve what he was talking about and returned with something in hand. To Mort's eye it looked familiar.

"Looks like your 'boyfriend' is unfaithful." He sneered as he held up the book. It was his book. His recently published one. The one he told him not to read and here it is, right in front of his face. 

"What-How..?" His brows knitted together as he took it from him and looked through it, just to make sure it was really his. Morton stood there and watched Mort's confusion, satisfied with himself. 

"Where did you find this?"   
"It was in his suitcase."   
He thought it over, "So if it was there...then that means he had it before we came here, but when did he have the time to pick one up? Wait, the party... For fuck sake, he must've dug it out of the trash when I threw it away, but I was with him the whole night. Something doesn't make sense..." 

"..he got it when you were drunk on your ass outside." Morton finished his thought for him.  
"How do you know? Wait how did you know what I was thinking?" 

"I'm a part of you, stop being so dumb now." He rolled his eyes. "But yeah, I was there, I followed him and watched from afar when he left you all by yourself."  
"You were at the party?!" 

"Someone has to look after you."  
The writer let out a agitated sigh. "Thanks, I guess, but stop following me now."  
"Can't help it. Especially with you 'dating' this idiot."

"Shut up." He walked a few steps away, staring down at the book, thinking about what to do with it now. Mixed feelings flowed through him, was he able to trust him now? Why would he do such a thing, after deliberately saying not to? 

"So does that mean you're going to leave him since you can't trust him?" Morton said with some excitement. 

"No, I'm just going to put it back where you found it and confront him about it later."  
"Well, I know you'll eventually leave him so I'm not too worried about it."

"Ok keep thinking that." The writer walked away and put the book back into his suitcase, burying it under some cloths then zipped it up as if to look like it had never been touched. 

Walking down the hall to go back to the room where Dean was, he looked towards the living room and noticed that Morton had vanished. He sighed, relieved, glad to have him gone. Mort went into the bedroom and saw that he was still asleep. 

He crawled quietly onto the bed and laid next to him, curling up against his warm body. However, he laid there awake, forcing himself not to fall asleep.


	23. Caught Guilty

Hours passed and Mort's eyes became sore from staring non stop at the ceiling. He caught himself dozing off a few times, but managed to snap out of it. He knew he had to eventually sleep, but he was hoping he'd forget all about it by now. 

However, his mind was one to not forget such things, especially when it came to troubling him. That's all he ever seemed to remember was bad thoughts, where were all the good ones at? 

He hated his mind and what it was capable of, it was an endless torture chamber of his well being, which took a major toll on his physical health. For example, not sleeping. 

He flipped over, irritated and faced the sleeping man, that sight instantly made him happy as a soft smile crept onto his face. The writer moved closer to him and nuzzled his head under his chin, he was incredibly warm and he loved it. 

He felt safe with him, even if he was just sleeping, just his presence made him feel untouchable by anyone or anything. It felt odd in a way because he'd always been known as the protector, now he was the one being protected and he favored this end of it way more. 

There was a soft noise that caused him to look up as Dean stretched slowly. Finally he's awake, he thought. The one coming out of a slumber rubbed his eyes and reached over to put on his glasses and found Mort curled up against him as he smiled down at him. 

"Awake I see." He chuckled.  
"Yeah, couldn't sleep."  
"But you look tired."

"No my eyes just hurt, allergies this time of year." He shrugged.  
He gave a soft nod and laid back. The writer crawled over and put his head on his chest as he looked up at him. 

Both exchanged loving smiles as he wrapped his arms around him. Mort melted into his embrace, the feeling of being held by him made him want to fall asleep because it was so relaxing and comforting to him. 

His eyes began to close again and that's when he shot up and planted his head on his hand, exhausted from fighting himself.

"What's wrong?" He questioned, confused by his behavior.  
"Its just...remember on the way over here, I had that nightmare?"  
"Yeah?"

"Well I've been trying to fight the urge of sleeping...I just don't want to go back to it." His body started to shake without even realizing it.   
"Mort, sweetie..." He pulled him close. "Its okay, I'm here."  
"Don't let me fall asleep, please."   
"But you have to." He said with concern.

"I can't."  
"Will you at least tell me what it was about?" He inquired, but immediately regretted it, he didn't want to push him into doing anything he didn't want to. "Never mind, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." The book dealer smiled at him and stroked his hair, trying to calm him. 

"I'm still trying to get over it, another time I will."  
"No problem." He kissed his temple and got out of bed, putting on a fresh set of clothes.  
"If you want, you can unpack your stuff now."

His ears basically perked up when he heard him say this, now's his chance to confront him about the book and make it look like an accident.  
"Sure." He said as he got out of bed to join him. 

They both gathered their luggages and went into the room across from the bedroom. The room was like a walk in closet, but bigger. Shelves of shoes, racks of clothes, multiple drawers and two mirrors, one on each end. 

Mort would of never guessed that Dean had this much in his wardrobe, considering he mostly wore suits and dressy items which the closet was filled with. He supposed his life revolved around his work, so he always had to be in uniform and must've become a habit even when not working. The writer set his suitcase on the bench in the middle and opened it.

"You can put your stuff over here." He said as he showed him where.   
"Okay." He replied and noticed he started to unpack his stuff and thats when he went over to him and said while picking up a shirt from his luggage, "Let me help you unpack first." 

"Oh, no its okay, I got it." The book dealer said and Mort caught a nervousness in his voice, he got him.   
"Please I insist." A smile came onto his face as he kept pulling clothes out.

"Mort stop, I don't need help." His tone was rising as he slammed the clothing back in quickly, looking to him.  
"Why? You hiding something Dean?"   
"No, why would you say that?" He felt threatened by his remark.

"Then let me help you." The writer threw his hands back in and the other man grabbed him, struggling to get him away, but ended up knocking everything over as his stuff spilled out onto the floor. 

Dean stood there extremely silent as both their eyes flew towards the exposed book. Mort was the first to move, reaching over to pick it up.  
"Not hiding anything, huh?" He waved it in his face.

It took him a moment to find a reply because clearly he didn't have one.   
"I thought you said you wouldn't read it. I trusted you."

"Mort, I..." He started, but didn't know what to say, he knew he messed up and shouldn't have gone behind his back for something so stupid. A part of him wanted to fight back and question him as to why he couldn't read it, but he already noticed how upset he was so he didn't want to make it worse. 

"I'm sorry, I should've listened."  
He moved closer to him and pulled him into a hug.  
"If you want, I'll get rid of it, I just want you to be happy."   
The smaller man considered his words and he couldn't ever be mad at him for realizing what he did. 

"I'd like that."  
"Okay and I'll do anything for you, I hope you know that, right?" He looked him in the eyes.  
"Of course and same goes for you." He hugged him again and smiled into his chest. After, he handed him the book to dispose of it. 

He didn't throw it away in just any trash, he walked it out to the dumpster far around the complex, but as he was walking over there a thought came to mind. "I know I should throw it away for Mort's sake, but I'm so curious as to what's in this book. Maybe I could hide it under some rocks out here or something. No, I have to get rid of it, but why?" 

Dean didn't even realize he'd stopped walking, now he just stood there holding a book in the middle of the night. "Maybe a little look through will ease my curiosity. No, then I'll want to read it, fuck." Looking down at it, he read the title. 

Now he's gone too far as he opened it up to the contents, reading over each one. He no longer had control of himself, flipping through the pages, nothing really caught his attention till he saw the word death. For some reason that word just stuck out more than all the others. 

Backing up to read the sentence he stopped midway and threw the book ten feet in front of him. 

"What the fuck am I doing!?" He said out loud, his brain finally processing what happened. The book dealer walked over to it and ran it to the dumpster, throwing it in there, never wanting to see it again. He needed to stay faithful to his partner. 

As he walked back to his place he couldn't get that word or sentence out of his head. What had he been writing about? 

Another thought came to mind as he remembered when it first came out that it was an autobiography not a fiction novel. He was completely torn now, not knowing what to think. Standing just outside his door, he hesitated for a moment with his hand around the knob then proceeded inside, best to forget about it, he thought. 

Mort had just finished up putting his belongings away as the other man rejoined him.   
"Thank you again for doing that, means a lot."

"Of course." The taller man snaked his arms around him. A hidden thought pried at his mind, wondering what he could possibly be getting himself into. However, its not like he's much different...


	24. First Trip Away

A few days have passed and Mort was getting adjusted to the new routine of being in a different environment. However, not everything was normal. 

Having the time been set late at night or early in the morning, one could guess around 3am, also known as the witching hour. 

The writer was having another distressed sleep which faded away as he shot up in a panic, snapping back to reality. His breathing frantic and a light sweat across his brow. 

This wasn't eased up as he found himself on an unfamiliar placing...his glasses were gone, so sight wasn't much on his side. Feeling around he finally realized that it was the couch. Why was he on the couch? Where was Dean? Confused about what was going on. 

Could this be another dream within itself? He wondered. Mort shakily got up from the couch and felt his way around the apartment back to the bedroom, hopefully to find his partner there, but if not, that would make him hysterical. 

That can't be the case though, right? This can't be a dream because it feels way too real... He needed to silence his mind and just focus on the task at hand. Finally making it back to the bedroom with some difficulty, the writer grabbed onto the bed and felt around. 

There was a body, a warm, slowly breathing one. He sighed heavily with relief and crawled next to him feeling a rustle in response.

A quiet voice questioned, "Mort...where'd you go?"  
"I...had to go to the bathroom..." He said simply not wanting him to wake up and question further.

The book dealer made a soft noise in response and wrapped his arm around him protectively not wanting him to get out of bed again. 

Once again he felt safe in his embrace, but he wondered how he even got to the couch in the first place. He didn't start there, he remembers going to bed with Dean. The thought scared him because what if he wakes up outside or an unknown place next time? Was he starting to sleep walk? 

He never had a record of that before, so why now? Maybe his personalities were trying to distance him from Dean. He felt like this was only just the beginning of a long torture ahead of not only him, but his partner as well. He feared the outcome. 

The rest of the night he remained awake, not wanting to repeat what happened. It felt like forever for the sun to rise, the daylight had always made him feel better. 

After some more dreadful time of staring into the darkness, light slowly appeared, inching its way over the walls. The sleeping man awoke to find that Mort was awake as well, "Didn't sleep again?"

He turned to face him, "No." He sighed.  
The book dealer stroked a hand across his face, "You either sleep for days on end, or don't sleep at all." He chuckled some. 

"Yeah, its annoying, but I don't have control over it."  
"Would some coffee help then?"  
"Sure."

Corso stretched before he got out of bed to make a fresh brew of coffee for them. Once he was gone, Mort found his glasses on his nightstand and put them on, heading into the bathroom to slash some water on his face in hope of reviving himself for the day. 

He'll admit that trick always did help. He went to go join Dean in the kitchen when he passed by an unknown door. He doesn't remember ever seeing it. There was something different about it that drew him towards it, almost like an energy. 

Not the good kind either. The writer tried the knob, but wouldn't budge, locked from the inside? Surely one must have a key to enter, but why hasn't he been told about this..? The dark haired man walked down the hall with two cups in his hands only to find Mort in front of 'the door.' 

He rushed over, nervously and said quickly, "Uh, please don't touch that..."  
He looked at him confused, "Why..? Why's it locked? What's behind there?"  
Dean gritted his teeth. "Just please stay away from there, trust me."

The writer understood the situation just by looking at how uncomfortably antsy the other man was and respected his wishes, but curiosity is such a disease, with only one cure of finding out what something is.   
"Okay..." 

"Thank you." He said gratefully and handed him a cup of coffee.   
After the weird exchange by the door they both went to the living room and sat down in front of the fireplace, quietly enjoying their hot cup of joe. 

Mort peered over his cup at him, he didn't look like one to hide things or keep secrets. Well everyone has a side to them that no one knows about not even close loved ones. A feeling he's all too familiar with. He watched his movements, that short encounter seemed to shake him up as his fingers tapped his cup rapidly. 

He wondered what he was thinking at the moment. 

Dean's eyes were glued to the floor almost in a trance like. "What if he ends up finding out? Well he won't from me that's for sure, but I hate to keep him in the dark like this. However, it's for his own safety, right? If I don't tell him then he'll become so curious that he breaks down the door or something, I have to come up with a plan." He thought. 

Then suddenly the phone rang. Corso jumped to his feet and made his way over, answering the phone. The writer watched and wondered who it could be. After a few minutes of slight discussion he hung up.

"Who was that?" The man on the couch inquired.  
"Business call." He went to go sit back down. "I leave in three hours, I hate to leave you like this so suddenly, but wo-"  
"Dean..." He started, cutting him off. "..you don't have to explain, I know how work is and you have to make your money somehow." He smiled reassuringly.

His response caused him to smile back, feeling better.  
"Thank you for understanding."  
"Of course, I mean you won't be gone long so."  
"Actually I'll be gone for a week."

Mort nearly spat out his coffee. "What?!"  
"Yeah, I have to go to London..."  
"But I don't want to be left alone for a week..."  
"Don't worry this is a safe neighborhood and if there's any problem just call me." 

"It's not that..." He said under his breath. A week alone in a somewhat familiar place without Dean is going to feel like an eternity, he thought. 

"I'll be back before you know it, just relax in the time being."  
The other man was laughing in his head, relax? Ha, I'll be tortured without you around to protect me. "Okay..."

The book dealer got up. "I have to start packing." With that, he left.   
He pulled down his suitcase from the top shelf and a sudden worry popped in his head. 

"Great, what am I suppose to do about the door? I'll end up coming back to it destroyed. No, he wouldn't do that, right? Well I certainly can't bring it up again." He huffed as he folded a few suits, setting them neatly into the luggage. 

The writer could already feel the change in the atmosphere, it was negative.


	25. Mixed Thoughts

The time had come quicker than he liked. The dreadful moment of watching his partner walk through the main threshold.

"Again, call me if something happens or you need me."  
The other man nodded and kissed him before he left. Once his presence was gone he shut the door and looked at the empty apartment, wondering what he could possibly do now.

Why was it so hard to occupy oneself now when he's been alone for awhile? Maybe write? No, nothing was one the mind at the time. A week, he repeated in his head. Its not long, get over it. He told himself, walking over to the living room.

"So it looks like we got the place to ourselves."  
Mort jumped forward and whipped around to meet eyes with the voice.  
"Jesus! You're going to give me a heart attack one day!" He yelled, gasping for air from the sudden fright.

"Oh calm down, its not my fault you scare so easily." Morton rolled his eyes.  
"So this is your plan? To just linger around me for a week?"

"Yeah pretty much since I can't come out with your little boyfriend around. Might give the old man a heart attack himself." He laughed.

The writer shook his head at the stupid remark. Then suddenly an idea came to mind.  
"You know what...you could be useful after all."  
"Oh. Like how?" Morton gave a smirk, taking a step closer.

Mort shoved him back.  
"Not like that. Follow me." And so he did.  
They were both stopped in front of a normally plain door, looked nothing special or different about it.

"Your point?"  
"There's something behind this door and its locked. I don't have access to a key or anything and you're...I don't even know, but you can go through it, so do it."

Morton crossed his arms. "And what's in it for me? I do everything for you, but nothing in return."

The writer gave a heavily frustrated sigh. "Fine, I'll give you a kiss, does that make you happy?" He gritted his teeth with the last word.

"Yeah, but you better mean it too." He gave a deep stare into his eyes watching him agree. Then looked the door up and down, getting closer as he put a firm hand to the wood. Nothing. He tried using more force. Again nothing.

Morton looked back at him confused only to see that he was as well. One last shot, he plowed his shoulder into it only to be shoved back to the wall across. Mort jumped back from the force the door gave off.

"What the hell was that?!" He bellowed in utter shock as he watched Morton steady himself.  
"Your boyfriend has some serious problems and I thought you were bad." He said as he looked back at him, holding his shoulder. "But a deals a deal."

The writer sighed and kissed him, the way he wanted it too so he didn't have to redo it.  
The other man smiled, "Now I can say that you cheated." He laughed and walked away.  
"Wait! You're not going to help me with this?"

"No, best to leave that alone, I sense bad stuff if you go around messing with things you don't know about." With that, he vanished.

His brows were knitted together. Wait, did he know something of it? What did he sense? Why is everyone not telling him what he wants to know? He gave the door one last touch and got a shiver down his back, not a normal one either, almost like a warning to stay away.

Mort scurried off and decided to go to the bedroom and take a nap. However, that nap turned out to be a long nights rest.

The writer woke up in a disheveled bed, looking to the clock as it read 5:27am. Sweeping the mess of hair out of his face and groaning in pain as he sat up. It felt like he'd been hit by a truck from sleeping for sixteen hours straight. Although, his mind felt refreshed.

"I really need to fix my sleeping schedule one day." He said quietly to himself, but thought why? It's not like he has a job to get ready for or anything so why not sleep whenever there was a slight ting that stung his eyes or when his mind felt heavy? He knew to well that the best reason was out of boredom.

The writer shuffled over to the closet and put on a fresh pair of clothes so he didn't smell like bed because he planned on going out today.

The apartment was still dark as the sun was slowly coming up, having been an early morning. Mort favored this time of day, where light meets darkness, just something about it made him feel rejuvenated and ready to start the day even though he isn't a morning person. Having those sixteen hours of sleep made him feel like he could tackle anything, no matter what time of day.

He locked the door behind him and headed off to the little diner down the street Dean had told him about. He could've took the truck, but why bother? It was close to home and a walk through the morning air would do him some good.

It was a new setting after all so the chances of him being bothered by a stranger compared to his home town were low. Maybe he could get used to living in a busy city rather than the quiet woods.

Having a fresh start with the one he loves. He didn't know, but surely has enough time to think about it.

Walking down the street it was somewhat quiet and he could see the sun rays beam against the sidewalk. Mort gave a soft smile as he entered the diner and took a seat by the front window, outlooking the city.

For the first time in a long time he was greeted with a smile and short conversation as he was handed a menu. He sighed contently, looking over the items.  
After a brief moment the waitress was back.  
"What would you like to drink this morning?"

"I'll have the Espresso Macchiato." She nodded while writing it down.  
"And are you ready to order?"

"Uh, its my first time here actually, do you recommend anything?" He looked up at her.  
She smiled and pointed to the menu. "The club house sandwich is really divine, made with the freshest ingredients, but if you're looking for something more 'breakfast' then I suggest our house special pancakes. They're made different than most places, family recipe."

"I'll go with those then." He said with a smile and handed her the menu and left to put his order in. It was nice to have good service for once.

He saw a mother and daughter heading out when the little girl turned around to look at him as they made eye contact. He gave a soft smile, having it returned to him then she was pulled away to leave the diner.

  
The man let out a sigh, he always wondered what his life would've been like today if he had a kid. If things were different between him and Amy and what happened.

The thought made him feel uneasy because then he wouldn't have met Dean and be where he is now, happy.

He always thought about having kids, but with his disorder that was far from the possibility.

Being with Dean the only way was adoption now, but he couldn't see himself being a father, he questioned what his views were about kids, family, etc.

His thoughts were cut off when he heard his phone ring, answering it, it was Dean.

"Hey sweetie, just wanted to check up on you."  
Mort smiled. "I'm doing fine, how's it over there?"  
"Hectic, my client has me not only running all over London, but all of England."

He could hear the frustration in his voice and felt bad, he never realized how hard his job was.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I can't wait for you to come back though, I miss you."  
"Yeah...I miss you too."  
The waitress came with his drink and food, setting it down.  
"Well I have to go now, I love you." Corso said as a second voice could be heard in the background.

"Ok, love you too." They hung up simultaneously.  
The writer sighed, wishing he could've gone with him, but mixing business and personal life never worked so he understood.

He had spent some time in the diner, looking to his watch seeing it was close to eight. The check was left at the edge of the table as he reached to grab it and paid for his meal along with a tip. When he noticed a scratch piece of paper with a number on it inside.

He looked at it confused then looked around to find the waitress staring back at him with a smirk and made a gesture to call her. In his mind he was like, "Pfft, I'm happily taken, no thank you." And crumbled up the paper tossing it aside then left.


End file.
